


For Great Justice!

by Green



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Blood, Demon Stiles Stilinski, Empath Stiles Stilinski, Empathy, Hale Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Non-Explicit, Revenge, Stilinski Family Feels, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/pseuds/Green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia. </p><p> </p><p>  <em>"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers <em>suffer</em>. I promise you."</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The people who helped the most on this are Majoline and Przepraszam. I also got feedback from Apollo and Maledictum early on.
> 
> I wanted this to be my offering for Steter Week this year, but that didn't happen because it's still not finished. I have a bit of a cushion but I'm only halfway through it, writing wise. I just wanted to share this story so badly, and thought 'well, might as well get it out there.'
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Stiles has been following this particular case for a week now, driving right on through the night and day to get where he needs to be. It's even easier now to keep following the metaphysical pull only he is aware of, and it's so much stronger now that he's close. 

He experiences it as a chain with sharp, ruthless barbs hooked into the meat of his heart. 

(Or soul, though some would argue he lost his soul when he took up this profession. But since the majority of those overly judgemental opinions come from _hunters_ , who constantly indulge in metaphorical coprophagia — that is, they savor the consumption of utter shit regularly spewed by their peers, other supernatural bigots, then claim it to be the epitome of haute cuisine — he really doesn't think he should put any kind of faith in the validity of those opinions.)

The dark, thick chain pulses with someone's need for what he can bring, and Stiles couldn't ignore that even if he wanted.

It's true he's been thinking of giving up the justice racket for a while now, of letting himself revert to human. Find a partner, start a family. Allow himself to age, grow old, and eventually die. He used to think it was stupid. Well, not entirely, because his mother had chosen it, hadn't she? She'd been happy with the man she married and the son they raised together in that small village, at least until things turned bad. But Stiles had laughed at the thought of returning to humanity himself. At least he had for the first three hundred or so years. He's been considering it more seriously in the last century or so.

It would be difficult, he knows. He's been decidedly Other for so long now. Powerful. Manipulative. Darker than any regular human would want to see, and the ones who'd be interested in his true self wouldn't really be the type he'd want to spend the rest of his life with. 

It's not an easy road, if he takes it. Probably won't be completely satisfying, either. Finding someone to love would be easy enough, but he wouldn't be loved in return. Not really. Someone might fall in love with who he pretends to be, but that's not quite the same. Still, a half measure is better than an empty one.

But every time he thinks he's decided to try, every time he's about to take that last, huge step off the cliff to plunge back into humanity, another case comes along that reminds him of why he does what he does.

The reason he became a being (some say spirit, others say demon, and Stiles even likes to whimsically use _avatar_ ) of justice and revenge in the first place was not just to have something to live for in the aftermath of his mother's murder, but to help others in the world who needed and continue to need that justice as well. The ones Stiles can help unburden when he sets things right again. He's been helping the wronged and wreaking vengeance on those responsible for their pain and rage since the 1620s. He hasn't stopped thinking it's the right thing to do and has never had a second thought about his methods. There is a void in the world, a niche he fills, and while it's not something one does _nicely_ , it's something that's needed.

He walks more slowly now, invisible to everyone because he doesn't need to be seen. He turns down one more corridor, following the pulse of the chain, noting the _Long Term Care_ sign. He knows when he's found the right room, because the agony and rage that have been pulling him forward across the country is suddenly right with him, surrounding him, instead of in some unknown distance ahead.

He should be worried, or at least wary, since this is undoubtedly the strongest pull he's felt since he started down the path that leads away from humanity. The only need for revenge he's felt this deeply was his own. He's _not_ worried, though. He's eager to get to work. Hungry for it in a way he's never been before, because for him to feel it this strongly must mean something.

(Something... good? Bad? Interesting, at the very least.)

He grabs the chart hanging outside the patient's room before he walks in and closes the door behind him. He isn't expecting to find the man sitting in a chair, since most wards of this type hold bedridden patients. But the man doesn't give Stiles any indication that he's heard his entrance, and when Stiles steps closer (drawn in even more now, can't seem to stop himself) he can see his new client (charge?) isn't seeing him or anything else, despite his eyes staring open.

In such close quarters, the emotions Stiles is getting from the man — or werewolf, rather; he sees the weakened wolf power when he finally gets a look at the faint aura — are almost overpowering. Stiles has felt a lot over the years from the people he's helped. Grief, pain, and anger are no strangers, and his ability to feel these things to better understand a situation has only become more powerful and finely tuned due to his age and experience. 

He's never had a problem with his empathy before because it's never been a hindrance to his job. It helps him, shows him what he's fighting (or torturing or killing) for. Right now, though? He wishes he could turn it _off_ altogether, or at least dial it down. It's hard to think this close to the source.

"Hey, man," he says after a few moments of just breathing through the emotional onslaught. He takes some deep breaths to center himself. Just like his mother taught him when he was a child and he was learning early magicks.

Once he's able to think clearly again, he drags a chair over near the window so he can sit beside the man while he reads the chart. "My name is Stiles, and I'm here to be your Dark Knight. Well, sorta. No capes or cowls. Don't worry, I'll explain it later. First I'm gonna look through your personal medical information like I've never heard of privacy laws."

There's not a lot in the folder, and Stiles assumes he can find more once he breaks into the system, and possibly even more once he gets his local contact to fill in the blanks from official reports.

But he gets the gist, and at least now he has a name to call his client. Or charge. Stiles feels like he's going to be more vengeful guardian for the werewolf than justice facilitator.

Knowing the man is a werewolf gives him a suspicion of what's happened, too. (He'll confirm it later, but if he's right and hunters are to blame, he owes himself a bag of mini Reese's cups. Wait, nah, that's a sucker bet.)

"Peter Hale," Stiles murmurs as he puts the file aside and leans closer to the catatonic werewolf. His eyes drift down the side of Peter's face, taking in the damage and feeling the man's agony echo inside his mind, silent, never ending screams. There's no outward sign of what Peter's feeling, but Stiles knows it now, feels it like his own incandescent rage for this man's ongoing horror. 

He reaches out and touches Peter's scarred cheek, letting his magic slide over the werewolf's skin like a cool breeze. "I can't take pain like your kind can, and I don't know if this will even touch the burning you feel. I hope it helps, even if it's just a little." He sighs, knowing Peter hasn't even registered his presence yet. He's locked inside himself with only the rage and pain to keep him company. Stiles is determined to help, but he already knows it will take some time.

He pulls his hand away and frowns. "I don't know what happened to you yet, or where your pack is, if they're even still alive, but you pulled me from across the country with your need for revenge, and I can feel it even stronger now that I'm here with you." He reaches out again. He doesn't realize it until his hands are wrapped around Peter's and he's squeezing like he can make the scarred man understand through touch and will alone. 

Stiles doesn't recognize the deep, intense note in his voice when he speaks next. "Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers _suffer_. I promise you."

There's a blip, a flicker of emotion separate from the constant _rage-rage-agony-rage_ he's picked up from Peter so far. It's small and quick; he's tempted to label it insignificant. But no, Peter was right there with Stiles in that moment, as fleeting as it was, and it makes determination race through his veins like electricity, bolstering him for the upcoming task.

It won't be easy and he's known that from the start. The strong pulls rarely are, and this is the strongest ever. But Stiles doesn't give up when he's chasing justice, and not only because he loves to balance the scales. There's a twisted hunger inside him that makes him one of the most successful of his kind. He's never shied away from his own bloodlust when he's seeking revenge. He _enjoys_ making the guilty pay, slice by slice, scream by scream.

Maybe Peter is responding to his nature. Maybe he can sense Stiles's craving to set things right the way Stiles can feel Peter's need for him to do just that. If Stiles can strengthen that connection and use it to bring Peter out of his current state, then that's what he'll do. Gladly. 

"You're not alone, Peter," Stiles tells him in a whisper. "I'm here. I felt you reaching out for revenge and I answered by following your pull. So now I'm here for you, and I'll do everything in my power to make sure you get what you need."

* * *

On his way out of the hospital, he makes a call. When he hears the line open, he starts talking before he hears a greeting. 

"Guess who just so happens to be in Beacon Hills and is on his way to your home as the most awesome uninvited guest you've ever had?" he asks in his most annoyingly cheerful voice. It may have been something he would have said long ago, when he was still human. Maybe not. It's another of the things he uses to make others ignore (or forget) how dangerous he can be.

_"...Did you time this so I'd be just home from my shift but not yet passed out in bed from exhaustion? Are you watching the house?"_

Stiles laughs as he starts his Jeep and squeals out of the hospital parking garage. "I love that you think I plan that far ahead... Or that I stalk my loved ones out of some consideration other than my love and protection!"

He can practically hear the eyeroll that accompanies the amused snort.

"Nope, just a happy coincidence, Televelis!"

He smirks when the man on the line groans at the name. _"I thought we had a deal about our names. Unless you want me to just call you by yours all the time?"_

Stiles scrunches his nose. "But you were named after my father, who was named for the sun creator and seeker of light! My name is just _embarrassing_."

_"I will only call you Stiles if you call me Tel — or _Tom_ like everyone else does."_

"Why do people call you Tom, anyway? There is no part of your name that bears any resemblance to Tom or Thomas or anything close to it."

Tel laughs. _"I use my initial. I even sign checks with 'T. Stilinski'. I can't help what people assume."_

"What you let them assume, you mean. As if your grandmother would have allowed you to be burdened with such a boring, unimaginative name," Stiles says with a chuckle. 

_"Heaven forbid. Any idea how long you'll be staying on this visit?"_ Tel asks.

Stiles is already thinking ahead and making plans. He's sure he'll have to stay in Beacon Hills for an extended period this time around, and the best way to blend in with the locals is to become one of them. So yeah, he has an idea. He's just got to sell it to his many-greats grand nephew Tel Stilinski. 

"Hmm. We'll see," Stiles says, which is really one of the best non-answers he can give. "Be there in a minute!"

Beacon Hills is spread out but blessed with extremely light traffic, so he's pulling his Jeep in front of Tel's house, right alongside the Sheriff's cruiser, in no time at all.

He grabs his bag out of the back and bounds up to the front door, feeling good about this visit. He hasn't seen Tel in a few years, but he genuinely likes the man and tries to at least keep up to date with what's going on in his life through calls, texts, and emails. Stiles rarely shares anything about the jobs he does, but Tel loves to hear about his traveling and some of the interesting people, both human and not, that he meets on a regular basis.

Tel opens the door before Stiles has the chance to knock. He's smiling, and that makes Stiles grin at him, and then he moves in for a hug.

His many greats grand-nephew has never shied away from a hug from Stiles, even though he knows who he is and what he does. Not specifics, not really, and Stiles is careful not to go full-on dark demon of vengeance around him. But Tel has always made Stiles feel closer to humanity, though he left that behind before he even turned eighteen. 

And Stilinski hugs are the best hugs. Stiles says as much, and it makes Tel laugh and pull him inside to sit in the living room. They talk about nothing for a few minutes until Tel's watching him with expectation all over his face.

But Stiles insists on food first before he gets into giving any specifics on the current situation. Tel raises his eyebrows, then goes to fish a stack of menus out of a kitchen drawer. Stiles grabs a couple, looks through them, then gets his phone out and orders for both of them. He pretends he doesn't see the faces Tel makes when Stiles picks all healthy, vegetarian options for his (many greats grand-) nephew. Later, he'll be sure to remind him he hasn't inherited immortality from anywhere in his family tree. Also that he's Stiles's only living family (that he cares to associate with). Hopefully, that'll be enough to keep him eating more heart-healthy foods. If not for himself, then for the giant guilt trip Stiles will give him without compunction.

* * *

Stiles looks closely at Tel, eyes skimming over the faint wrinkles around his eyes and the dusting of gray in his hair. He shakes his head. "I doubt you can pass as a father to a late-twenties son. Uncle it is. And just considering that feels weird, you know? I still see you as a kid. But I still think of your _babcia_ as a little girl, so…" He smiles and tries to shrug off the melancholy. Humans age and die; that's just _life_.

"You don't even look like you're in your late twenties. Late teens, early twenties, really," Tel says, and Stiles knows he can see the sadness in his eyes but is kind enough to pretend he doesn't.

"And this isn't even me, really," Stiles admits. He shrugs, closes his eyes, and shifts. He doesn't normally exist in his natural state, the face and body he had when he took up his job and stopped aging, unless he's specifically trying to look harmless. Not that he looks dangerous in the forms he takes more regularly, but sometimes he needs more of an edge. 

Tel blinks. "I know I've seen you shapeshift before, but it still surprises me. And I haven't seen you look like _this_ before. Geez, you really do look like a kid. More of one."

Stiles spreads his arms and looks down at his lanky body with a rueful smile. "This is actually me without any embellishments. I mean, this is how I looked when I… you know. Took the job. I stopped aging when I was… well, on my seventeenth birthday."

"I knew you were human at some point," Tel says quietly. "I know your father went on to have other children and that's how we get down to me on the family tree. I don't know what happened to get you to this point. But I've heard stories, vague but dark enough that I know I don't want or need to hear the details. I just didn't realize you were seventeen. You were so young."

And there it is. One of the reasons why Stiles can't really ever reveal himself around non-demon types. People, even ones who love him or know what he is, they don't need to know it all. Don't want to. Tel is his nephew and the one person who knows him best, but even he wouldn't accept Stiles if he knew his deepest secrets. Just the story of what he'd done after his mother's murder would be enough to make Tel flinch away from him. Possibly for good.

Stiles nods slowly, feeling a knot in his chest tighten up. "Okay," he says, and takes a breath before going on. "So… the justice business is what leads us to why I'm here in Beacon Hills."

"What, it's not to visit your favorite nephew?" Tel asks dryly, and thankfully doesn't try to correct Stiles on the difference between justice and revenge. 

Stiles winces inside at the comment, though. He should really try to see Tel more often. He's the only family he has (worth having), his only remaining link to humanity. "Yeah, no, sorry. I… so, I get clients by feeling for them. Rarely do I feel anything without any kind of action on my part. So this case is different. I don't know how much different yet, but I have a feeling it's going to be a big one. I was in Atlanta when I felt it pulling at me. When I felt _him_. A pull from that distance is pretty much impossible. Well, obviously it's possible since it happened, it's just never happened to me _before_."

"The… client is here in Beacon Hills?" Tel asks.

Stiles closes his eyes and focuses on Peter Hale and the thing chaining them together. "In the hospital here. He's catatonic." He opens his eyes and tries to dismiss the pull for the time being. It can't be healthy to pay too much attention to that sheer volume of rage and pain. Stiles's emotional and psychological health are bad enough already. "I don't know any specifics yet, but he's the victim of a hunter attack, I'm pretty sure. His name is Peter Hale. He's a werewolf."

* * *

Tel already knows about hunters, and werewolves, and just about everything else that goes bump in the night (or day). Stiles doesn't believe ignorance makes anyone safe. He made sure Tel knows how to hide his inside knowledge from anyone who may take offense, and that's the most important precaution. But he also has wolfsbane bullets, mountain ash, mistletoe, dried and powdered rowan berries, and several other tricks up his sleeves. Stiles taught him a little at a time as he was growing up, usually when he came to visit his _babcia_ , Anka. 

So since Tel is in the know, he quickly follows Stiles's train of thought on rogue, codebreaking hunters going after the Hale family.

And then Tel leaves the house with the promise he'll return shortly. He keeps his promise, though when he comes back he's carrying a cardboard box with "Property of Beacon County" on the side in bold Sharpie.

"Whatcha got?" Stiles asks, sitting down on the sofa when Tel places the box on the coffee table.

"Files on the Hale fire," is the answer, and it makes Stiles suck in a breath. Tel pulls a knife from his pocket to cut the tape sealing the lid, then pulls the lid off, too. "There's not a lot. It was ruled an accident. But before the investigator signed off on it being an electrical mishap from faulty wiring, we put together some information in case it was going to be ruled arson."

"Don't tell me — the investigation was over and case closed before you could find anything?" Stiles says, feeling his mouth twist bitterly around the words.

Tel gives him a knowing, tired smile. "Yeah. But I didn't have anything to do with it at the time. Wasn't sheriff yet, just a deputy, and I was never the top detective. I'm good, but that honor went to someone else. And since the Hales were such a prominent family, everyone wanted the best on the case."

Stiles snorts. "Don't tell me you're not the best."

Tel's smile is more genuine. "Well," he says, then modestly leaves it at that.

It makes Stiles grin. But then he starts pulling folders out and now he can finally get to work.

Tel stops him before he can get too deep into the facts, though. "Hey, can you... change back? You already look young to me most of the time, but seeing you as a teenager is… well, it's freaking me out."

"Oh, sure, no problem," Stiles says, and lets the form he wears most of the time come back over him. Tel relaxes and Stiles smiles at him. "You know you're gonna be posing as my uncle, right? I'd think you'd want me to look younger."

"...is that a thing that needs to happen? I know I'm in good shape, but I'm old enough to have a thirty year old kid, let alone nephew. I'm glad you're not posing as my kid or I'd have all kinds of questions to answer."

Stiles grins and shakes his head. "Actually, I need to be about thirty. I'm Peter Hale's husband, you know."

It's hilarious the way Tel chokes and sputters over that. Even more hilarious when Tel demands to know just how Stiles intends to pull off a lie that big.

(Stiles is vague on the details because he doesn't want to freak Tel out too much. Even with his nephew knowing about the magic and that Stiles is a supernatural powerhouse with it, it's still shocking to anyone who realizes just how powerful Stiles really is.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extra thanks to majoline for the last beta

Stiles's empathic abilities work best when he has a living, breathing, _feeling_ person nearby. Strong emotions are always easier, and require the least work. But it is possible for Stiles (now that he's been doing this for centuries) to pick up emotion from places or objects. Strong emotion, again, is easier. It leaves a kind of psychic vibration inside or on the surface of things. Often it depends what the object is made of. Rarely, Stiles can't feel anything because of time, or lack of strong emotion, or even if there's nothing made of the right kind of stuff to hold on to those emotions.

People make fun of 'the occult' and theories about crystals all the time, but Stiles often wishes everyone was thoughtful enough to have crystals around to pick up their vibrations so he doesn't have to work so hard sometimes.

Strong emotion is not lacking when it comes to the site of the Hale fire, though. He can feel it as soon as he gets to the site.

He's been putting it off for awhile, actually. He had to make sure to get everything worked out with Peter first. He got the house, had it set up with furniture and bedding and towels and pots and pans and food. He bought movies and books he knew, through research, were Peter's favorites. Then Stiles made sure the house was stocked with medical necessities for a catatonic patient, everything Peter will need to be cared for at home.

And… it _is_ Peter's home. Stiles has been thinking of the house that way since he first spotted the For Sale sign on the front yard. He's told himself it's only practical, since when you think of things a certain way, it's easier to lie when it's time to say the right words.

Words like, "I'm so sorry. I've… I've been away. I couldn't take the guilt. But now I'm here to bring my husband home with me and make sure he has the best care I can provide for him."

A little bit of a mind whammy and even the doctor who has been in charge of Peter's case all along and actually _knew him before the fire_ goes along with it. Because of course he remembers Stiles Stilinski, the Sheriff's nephew, and how he was married to Peter for a year before the fire. No one even thinks of Peter's emergency contact, let alone attempts to call Laura Hale to ask about her uncle's new arrangement. Why should they? Stiles is his spouse and legally holds the cards.

(Stiles always holds the cards… eventually. All of them.)

So now Stiles and Peter own a home, jointly, and the the Stilinski-Hale household is much-discussed around town. People 'know' all the gossip, and though they tut a little over Stiles leaving Peter in the hospital for so long, they're proud of him for finally coming to his senses. It's not that anyone really blames him — he lost so much family in the fire, even if he was only a Hale by marriage — and the boy was of course devastated when his husband never woke up after the tragedy. A few people even whisper about how horrible Peter was burned in the fire, and how Stiles couldn't have been expected to bring him home before he healed anyway, and then it was probably just easier to let professionals care for him. Stiles was surely depressed and still grieving for years in the aftermath.

(Stiles has heard, _He seems much better, don't you think?_ behind his back at the grocery store. He didn't even give these particular people memories of himself after the fire, and yet they seem to remember those difficult times anyway. It's uncanny. He's pretty impressed with himself on this job.

...Though it's hard to think of it as a job, now.)

He shifts his thoughts away from Peter and his nurse waiting for him at home and gets back to the work at hand. He's standing in the clearing in front of the Hale house — or rather its burnt-out shell. He can feel things already. Straight ahead there is terror. And pain, both physical and emotional. It's not unlike what's soaked into the rock beneath his feet, though he feels guilt there, too. The other survivors, Laura and Derek Hale, he thinks.

He circles the house slowly, waiting for something that isn't a psychically screaming Hale, something that doesn't fit. There's fear, grief and _confusion_ near the back, different, but he'll come back to that one. He recognizes that one as another Hale but there's something else grabbing his attention, something that doesn't fit, — _someone's_ imprint who wasn't full of pain at all.

He follows it. It's a tug, though not at all like the one he feels with Peter. This is because he's committed to the Hale case, to Peter, and this is connected to getting him the proper revenge he deserves.

Glee. Satisfaction of a job well done. Pride in her good work.

He knows very little about who left these imprints, only that she's a woman connected to the fire, probably responsible for it, and that she leaned against a granite boulder close enough to the house to bask in the flames. Stiles places his hands against a worn, flat part of the boulder and closes his eyes, trying to get a better reading.

He searches. He wishes he could get more of an impression of her gender. A rap sheet printout or a screen with her mugshot would be lovely.

If she's ever been caught before. It's highly possible her record is completely clean. If she's a hunter…

He swallows back bile. She is definitely a hunter. No one else has that same ugly sanctimonious twist to their feelings when it comes to an outright murder of this type. Stiles has studied every page, every piece of evidence collected on the fire. He knows who was in the house, who died, what their bodies looked like when they were found. If there was anything left to them once the fire was safely out, that is.

He knows nothing but a supernatural barrier could have kept such supernaturally strong people from busting through walls to get out of that fire and save their pack. This woman, she knew the Hales were a pack. She came prepared. 

To her, the fire was _righteous_. A peaceful pack died because she believed they were monsters to be put down. So most of the Hales died because of the same hunter mentality that killed Stiles's mother.

The boulder cracks from the power of his punch. His hand is broken but the bones are quickly healing back into their proper places. Lots of bones in the hand, though. It may take some time.

He turns around, ignoring his own pain, and seeks out the other imprint, the one he sensed earlier.

When he reaches the spot she hid, he already knows almost everything he needs to. He feels her terror, her grief, her confusion. He feels how vulnerable she was, how small. She fit into the hollow beneath a large oak tree, which has since been used as a burrow for a fox and kits. The imprint doesn't give her name, but he knows it anyway. There was only one little Hale old enough to know to hide quietly, yet small enough to go unnoticed in her hiding place. Presumed dead after that night, but there was only one person she could be.

Cora Hale escaped the fate of seven other Hale packmates, and the town thought she died with the others of her family. Stiles knows no one ever found out. It would be big news, and Tel would know if Cora turned up alive after all.

For a moment Stiles has a concerning thought: what if she escaped the fire, but was found and killed by the hunters afterward? He concentrates harder, searching for every scrap of emotion the girl left behind. 

After almost an hour, he's satisfied she made it out. Confused, likely in shock or a fugue state, but relatively safe. 

He has no way of knowing where she is now, however. He hasn't had to scry for someone in decades and may be a little rusty, but it's probably what he's going to have to do. 

It's something. A small bit of good news he can take home today. Maybe it will be enough to jolt Peter out of his catatonia.

* * *

"Hey, Ashley," Stiles says when he comes home, greeting the in-home support aide who seems to be finishing up feeding Peter some mashed potatoes.

She smiles at him. "Hi. Did you get those errands taken care of?"

"Sure thing," Stiles says. He sits beside Peter's wheelchair and cocks his head. "And how's my charming husband? He giving you a hard time?"

Ashley's discomfit is not unexpected, but the confusion and angry vulnerability from _Peter_ is. 

Stiles carefully does not react to his sudden knowledge of Peter's lucidity. Not until Peter feels comfortable enough to reach out. 

"He's been fine?" Ashley tells him, shaking off her fluster. "He's finished his food except for dessert. Do you want me to stay and finish with him?"

Stiles waves her off. "I've got it. You're probably wanting to get home. I'm sorry for staying out so late, I… well I went out to the house. The um…" He trails off, knowing she'll put it together.

"Oh…" she says softly, and he feels her sympathy. "Is there… Do you want to...."

"Go on home," Stiles says. "I have Peter to talk to, and you have your own husband waiting, right?"

"Fiancé actually," she tells him, then laughs. "We'll get married when we can afford the big wedding my momma thinks I want."

Stiles gets up and grabs a pudding cup from the refrigerator as she's walking to the door.

"Bye Ash!" he calls after her, and he hears her farewell before the door clicks closed. He can feel Peter now, trying to hold on to the clarity he's found. It must be hard, coming out of catatonia after so many years. In the past few weeks, Stiles has learned it's a little like trying to swim up to the surface during a riptide. Now it seems like Peter is just trying to keep his head above water before another wave pushes him down. Stiles sits beside him again and pulls Peter's wheelchair around and closer so they're face to face. Then talks to him like he's been doing all along, light and comfortable. "So I picked this up at the store yesterday. Did you know Reese's makes pudding? It's peanut butter and chocolate swirl. Sounds delicious, right?"

He's careful to open the pudding cup in front of Peter. He does it nonchalantly, of course, but there are a lot of different things coming from the werewolf right now, and not least among those is distrust bordering on paranoia. 

"Wow, that smells good," Stiles says, and waves it slowly under Peter's nose. He's not sure how good Peter's senses are right now as he's still healing, but at least this gives him a chance to make sure the dessert is what Stiles says it is. 

"So I have good news and good news, which do you want first?" Stiles says after Peter swallows a spoonful of pudding. He smiles at the way Peter gives no outward reaction at all, but is actually somewhat pleased by the taste of the Reese's pudding cup and curious over Stiles's question. "Is it tasty?" Stiles gets some on the spoon and sticks it in his mouth. "Wow, okay. Pretty good. Definitely getting this again. Okay, sorry. It's yours. I won't eat any more."

Another spoonful of pudding goes to Peter and then Stiles is saying, "Okay, I'm absolutely sure now that your niece Cora survived the fire. Wasn't even inside. Made it away without getting caught."

Now he has Peter's undivided attention. Peter even gives himself away with a flicker in his eyes, the pupils contracting just a little, the blue getting sharper in reaction. Or maybe that's just in Stiles's imagination. 

"I don't know yet where she is now. I know Laura and Derek don't know about her, or word would have gotten around. But don't worry. We'll find her."

There's a snarl inside Peter, and Stiles is amazed at the control the man has because he doesn't let it escape to the outside. But Stiles can feel everything Peter feels now that they've been living together and Stiles has gotten even closer to what makes him _Peter_ , his wolf and rage and pain — all of it. And Stiles can pinpoint what brought on that reaction, too.

It only takes Laura's name to bring out the wounded fury, but Stiles gets it. Laura is supposed to be the Hale alpha. Peter's alpha. Yet she left him to merely exist (in a constant state of agony and broken, furious grief) on his own, cut away from what little pack survived the fire. 

Stiles would like to tell Peter, right now, that he understands. That he feels every bit of the betrayal, of losing so much pack, the bonds that _burned_ away and the ones that fell apart when Laura and Derek left (or maybe it was later, Stiles isn't sure). 

But Peter is hiding from him for a reason. It's one of the only things he thinks he has right now, the sanctity of his mind. And while Stiles can't read his thoughts, his empathy is strong enough that it's not that far from reality. Peter has very little power in this situation, and Stiles doesn't want him to realize he has less than he thinks.

And it's for that reason alone that Stiles should tell him. Peter would benefit more in the long run, as would his relationship with Stiles — no matter how professional versus personal it becomes — if Stiles stays honest with him.

"Okay, time to show you my cards," Stiles says once Peter's finished his pudding cup and Stiles has wiped his lips. "I'm going to tell you everything I can. Everything I can think of that you need to know. I don't think it's fair to hold this much power over you, and not give you… well, not tell you the power you hold here. I wouldn't really be giving up power other than knowledge, would I?"

And just that abruptly, Peter goes from lingering on his intense emotions about Laura to being focused on Stiles and full of curiosity. The wariness is back, of course, but Peter wants to know things more than he wants to dwell on his situation.

"I guess the first thing from which everything else comes from is… I'm not human," Stiles says. He stands, holds his arms out, and grins down at Peter. "Ta da! Big reveal. I should have led up to it probably, but I've got so much more to tell you and it really does start with that fact."

This time it's not just feelings Stiles gets, he actually gets a visual reactions. Peter tenses all over, his top lip curling, as if about to turn into a snarl.

"It's okay," Stiles says, backing away so he's not standing over Peter, letting him have his space. Then he pulls the other chair over. "I'll sit down. Don't need you feeling threatened when I am literally the one person on the face of the earth who you do not have to ever worry about turning on you. Like, ever. Once you hear my story, I still don't know if you'll get it. But… you don't have to worry about me. I'm on your side, Peter."

Peter's feeling curious to the extreme, but his doubtfulness comes through loud and clear as well. Stiles smiles at him, understanding more than Peter could comprehend.

"I'm not human and neither are you. But I'm not a werewolf. You probably would have smelled it on me if I was, but maybe not. You have a lot of healing up to do. I've been using a little magic to help it along…"

Peter's alarm jars against Stiles's psyche.

"...No, nothing harmful. Just some benevolent, good healing vibrations, you know? Mostly your brain, really. Heal your gray matter first, and it'll benefit the rest of you. Probably the best healing I could do. Once we get that part fixed a hundred percent, we can do anything else you need work on. But yeah, your sense of smell, right? I don't know how good it is right now since I don't even know if you can talk yet, but when you can tell me, we'll see how far along everything is."

The alarm is still there, though it's mostly fading back into the ever-persistent wariness. There's more confusion, too. 

"So if you haven't figured it out yet, yes, I know you're finally 'awake'." Stiles loves doing exaggerated air quotes. He finds them hilarious. "I'm a powerful empath. Comes with the territory. I'm a… well, I've done my research and I know you've done yours, too. Lots of it. Everything I've heard about you from various contacts tells me you're somebody who likes to know things. Like… all of the things. So when I tell you I'm a vengeance demon, which is what most people in the know, plus ancient texts and tomes, use to describe me. I go back and forth. Vengeance, justice, bloody and painful payback… that's what I do. I don't have a problem with any of those terms." He takes a breath to get a read on Peter's emotions.

Peter's wariness has almost completely disappeared. Stiles has a feeling it never _completely_ goes away, but this is good. Peter is… well, he's now hanging on Stiles's every word. He's interested in a way Stiles wasn't sure a person could be. He hesitates to call it _enthralled_ , but that's a close approximation to Peter's current foremost feeling.

"I didn't finish my thought. Okay. So when I tell you I'm a vengeance demon, I know you know exactly what I mean. I'm not really a _demon_ , not the kind a lot of the religions define them as. I'm not evil. Not particularly good, either, but I'm not working for Lucifer or anything like that. There are other dimensions and some of them are hell-like, and some of them have people and some have creatures more similar to 'demons' from various myths. But I'm not from any of those dimensions. I was human, mostly, here on this earth. Just breathing and living my life, until hunters had my mother killed. After that…" Stiles sighs and scratches the back of his neck, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. "Wow, that's a lot of exposition for you to take in, and I don't even know if you can talk yet to tell me what you think about all this."

Peter raises his head. One side of his face is still burned, but Stiles will make sure that's healed up before long. After they deal with the brain bits and all the other internals, they'll move on to the more cosmetic parts of the healing. 

Stiles can't help but scoot his chair forward, so he can reach out. He pauses before touching, though. "May I?"

Peter slowly nods his head, keeping his eyes (so blue) on Stiles's face. 

Stiles lets his fingertips rest cooly against Peter's scarred cheek. "Let me know if that's too cold. It's barely even a spell, more shifting my own body and temperature. How does that feel?"

Peter's eyes close and he exudes relief. He turns his face into Stiles's hand, seeking more of the cool sensation, and Stiles is glad Peter isn't the empathic one.

Stiles is feeling extremely full of himself right now. Proud that he can give this to Peter. Happy to be touching him with not just permission, but enthusiastic consent.

He's never gotten this close, or wanted to, with a client before. But there's something different about this one.

"Thank you," Peter rasps out.

Stiles realizes he closed his own eyes when Peter turned into his touch. He opens them, feeling shocked, and sees shock on Peter's face, too. He feels it, knows Peter is confused and surprised. It mirrors his own emotions. 

"I'm glad you can talk," Stiles tells him, inwardly wincing at how earnest his own voice sounds.

Peter's smile is devastating, even with all the scar tissue pulling against the curve of his mouth. Stiles needs to get back on track or he's going to lose himself in the man's eyes. This is ridiculous.

"You pulled me to you. Your… your need for justice. Revenge for what was done to you and your pack," Stiles says, knowing it will change the subject for good.

Peter's gaze sharpens and Stiles can almost feel his mind do the same. He's such an intense person, or can be. Stiles had wondered. He'd called around, questioned old friends and acquaintances. Everyone who knew Peter had the same things to say about him. Ambitious. Ruthless. Distrustful, ready to slip a claw to a belly the moment before his throat was vulnerable. Ready and willing to think ten steps ahead, and Stiles wonders if Peter's game is chess or Go. 

Right now Stiles has his full attention and it's a heady feeling. "I can't tell you what it feels like, what it _felt_ like when you grabbed me." Stiles huffs a laugh when he feels Peter's slight confusion. "Your need. Your will. I didn't understand in the beginning why you pulled me here from across the country, or why I feel it so strongly. After I did my research on you, I figured it out."

Peter tilts his head in question.

"You are one of the most… no, that's a cop out. You, Peter Hale, have a will made of iron. You're the most headstrong person I've ever met, and I felt it before I was even in the state state as you, let alone the same room. It's almost eerie, but I have the feeling if you died, you'd claw your way out of your grave just based on your desire to _beat it_."

"You are fascinating," Peter rasps, the words coming slow and nearly caressing and wrapping around the heart of Stiles like a constrictor python on its prey. "And completely correct about my determination." His eyes glint and he lifts a hand toward a glass, yet he seems too uncoordinated to grasp it. Stiles feels his frustration but ignores it, instead helping Peter wrap his fingers around the glass and lifting it with him so he can take a drink. Peter doesn't feel gratitude, exactly. But he's not bitter about needing the help, or negative about the help itself.

"I knew there had to be a reason I feel you like this," Stiles murmurs.

"I'm very interested in everything you can tell me about what 'this' is," Peter says after he takes a few long sips and clears his throat. His voice is even better now, and Stiles would shiver if it wouldn't give him away so completely. 

"I'll tell you everything, all of it," Stiles says, as if giving away knowledge is a thing he does frequently, freely, or happily. 

"But first…" Peter says, eyes glinting with a spark of humor.

Stiles shakes his head. He doesn't often wish his empathy was true telepathy, but there's so much of this man he wants to understand. Plus he hates not knowing things. "Yeah? What is it?" He puts the empty glass down on the table.

"I don't even know your name, vengeance demon."

Stiles facepalms with both hands. Which is convenient, since he can feel his face heat and it might almost hide the color he turns.


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, right. My _name_. Here I know all kinds of things about you and I haven't even introduced myself," Stiles says, embarrassed by the realization and over the pink he feels in his cheeks. "I'm Stiles. Well…" He closes his eyes and braces himself. "It's actually _Sandziwogius_ , but I've been Stiles since I could talk and tell my parents to call me that, instead. So don't even attempt to pronounce the monstrosity my mother saddled me with."

Peter's brows raise, their height would be impressive if Stiles wasn't currently wondering why he was telling the werewolf such a personal (and embarrassing, let's face it) fact. "It isn't often I hear a name that's obviously Slavic, yet just as obviously latinized."

His interest cuts through the embarrassment. "My mother, Claudia, was Roman. Like from actual Ancient Rome. She married a Lithuanian man in the late 16th century and had me about fifteen years later. I guess she thought I should have a good balance of heritage with my given name?" He shrugs. "It was just as bad then as it sounds today. As a kid I often wished my name was something more common, even with the latinization. I would have been happy with Stanislaus or Nicolaus."

"I would have been Petrus," Peter says, smiling slightly.

Stiles laughs, now happy to have shared a piece of himself. "That's another name I would have loved to have."

"Do you have any family left now?" Peter asks, not delicately at all, but neither without feeling. "If you were born in…"

"Probably about 1609, give or take," Stiles says. "And yes. After my mother was killed, my father remarried and had children. There are a few descendants, but I'm only in contact with one of them." He grins. "My many-greats nephew lives here in Beacon Hills, too. Very convenient, especially given he's the county sheriff and has no problem at all giving me full access to police records."

"Not that you'd have trouble getting them otherwise," Peter says.

Stiles huffs a laugh and rubs the back of his neck. "True. Very, very true."

"I want to hear everything, but I'm…" Peter pauses, and Stiles can feel irritation and weariness. 

"There's a lot, I know. How 'bout we go on to bed? I don't usually need much sleep, but I extended my gifts a little far today and could use a recharge," Stiles says. It's not a lie so much as an exaggeration. 

Peter sighs. "Yes, that would be best."

"I don't know when you came back to yourself… have you seen the master bedroom?" Stiles asks as he wheels Peter's chair along the hall. Then he remembers that he hasn't explained why they're living together as spouses. Or that they are sharing a bedroom. "It has a sitting area with a sofa. I've been sleeping there." Mostly.

He's saved from a possible uncomfortable conversation when Peter's eyes fall on the whiteboard Stiles has set up on one side of the master suite. Stiles wants to hide it, to keep Peter's mind off the tragedy just a little longer, but he stands to the side and lets Peter read over what Stiles has written and pinned up. It's not much so far, but Stiles has new information he'll be adding very soon. Which is something he'll save to tell Peter tomorrow. He's drooping from exhaustion. 

Stiles helps Peter sit on the side of the bed and then opens a dresser drawer. "Tee shirt and flannel sleep pants alright?"

Peter doesn't feel shy or hesitant at all, but he is bemused. "Have you been dressing me? How long have I been here with you?"

"Just a few weeks. It's not a long story — a little bit of persuasion on most people is all it took. Some, if they knew you before the fire, then they needed a heavier hand. But everyone in town is convinced now that I'm your husband who pretty much abandoned you right after the fire, but came back once I realized what an asshole I was being." 

Peter is sitting very still and the alarm is back.

"I'm not fucking with your head, I swear. And I won't. Okay? I promise. I would never do that to you," Stiles says fiercely.

"What makes me different from them?" 

Stiles is stumped. "You… _everything_ , Peter. You're my… my client? But your will is so strong, you sunk your claws right into my soul and snatched me away to your side. So no, I won't fuck with your mind. I'll help you heal, but I won't do anything like that." He looks at the clothes in his hand, the soft black and gray plaid flannel, the black tee, soft and nearly fuzzy. "And yeah, I've been dressing you. Feeding you. Bathing you. It's part of the getting you healthy again thing. Every moment I poured some magic into healing you. Every time I touch you, I try to transfer something positive to you, to get things moving around like they're supposed to be. It worked, right? You woke up."

"The scars aren't anything pretty," Peter says quietly.

"Oh, Peter," Stiles says dramatically. " _Everything_ about you is pretty."

Peter's eyes narrow but he apparently can't find fault with Stiles's words. 

"Seriously. Let me help you get dressed for bed and you can rest, and in the morning we'll talk about boundaries if you need to, and about getting you back to full health, and getting the bitch who did this," Stiles says.

Peter looks like he wants to challenge, and then to ask who 'the bitch' is, but his eyelids really are drooping. It's probably only his will keeping him awake at the moment. He gives a short nod, and then Stiles gets him dressed, chattering about the nurse he has coming in for Peter on a daily basis, and what her name is, and isn't it funny, and how Peter should call her Nurse Lady, too. Just to antagonize her some more. Stiles is aware Peter isn't listening to his words, but is sinking into sleep even before his shirt is over his head. 

Stiles smooths down the fabric, makes sure Peter's head is at a comfortable angle on his pillow, and tucks him in.

Then he goes to his whiteboard.

* * *

Peter is getting better, physically, at least. At times it seems his rage is giving him strength, though he tries to hide his emotions under a civil mask. Of course, Stiles knows it's there, feels it at all times.

Under the rage is pain, which Peter tries to hide even more. He's got it covered pretty well with his bloodlust and all around general thirst for revenge. But he seems to forget, most of the time, that Stiles's empathic powers are as strong as they are. Stiles knows how close to despair Peter tips every day. Tips and dips, more like, very rollercoaster-like, very textbook trauma survivor.

Peter would hate it if he knew Stiles thought anything about him was ordinary. Peter believes his intricate plans for 'playing' with the hunter who masterminded his pack's downfall are unique. They aren't. But talking about them helps Peter, keeps him focused, and Stiles does all he can to encourage that.

This close to the full moon, Peter is able to walk. Not well, but he's powering through. Tonight, he's pacing, and Stiles has never seen him this close to the wolf he is. It's a good sign for Peter's recovery. Fascinating, as well. Stiles is starting to have a few inappropriate thoughts about his client, and that's never really happened before. Stiles has slept with a few werewolves in his time, though. He knows how good it can be.

Peter suddenly stops, and when Stiles looks up to see what's the matter, he sees Peter looking at him intensely, his blue eyes glowing.

"What?"

Peter's expression changes as quick as lightning, much like his mood. "My senses are coming back up. Not quite up to fully healed, but an acceptable level."

"...Good?" Stiles asks, trying to pinpoint what Peter is feeling. His emotions have been changing quickly, deadly fish swimming in dark waters, darting out and back, between and around, scenting blood and coming to prey on whatever subject is between them at the moment. It makes it incredibly difficult to pin down the direction of Peter's thoughts.

Peter keeps looking at him, like he's sizing him up for a meal. Surely he can't be that close to feral.

"Hey, so. Question. For you, I mean," Stiles says.

"Yes?" Peter asks with a truly unsettling smile.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do after the main event? Once your pack has been avenged, what are your plans?" Stiles asks because he's afraid Peter has no plans beyond 'fuck them all up and make them pay'.

Peter blinks. Stiles gets a flash of confusion and disappointment, as if Peter had expected to hear something else.

Stiles takes a deep breath. "Maybe you could think about your niece."

That brings out an instant growl. It cuts off almost immediately, followed by self-recrimination. Peter doesn't like to do things without thought, Stiles knows. "I don't wish to think about Laura, unless it is to lure her back to Beacon Hills so I can _rip out her throat_."

Stiles holds up his hands. "I'm aware of that. You have issues with her… forgive the understatement. But I didn't mean Laura. I'm talking about Cora. Who I'm absolutely sure got out of the fire alive, but hasn't been found. She probably ran off, feral or in a fugue, is maybe living alone in Yosemite or someplace like it, or maybe another pack took her in."

Peter's demeanor changes. The fight, the fire, seems to flow out of him, and he deflates into a seat next to Stiles. "Where are you going with this?"

"You can have a future. Cora can have a future. You can both find family in each other. And maybe you can't rebuild your pack, but you can still have each other. But you have to stop thinking like there's nothing at the end of this road. That getting revenge is the end all, be all."

There's silence for some time. Peter's feelings whirl around, but he seems mostly contemplative. Finally, he says, "I don't think I'm… right, anymore. Mentally. Emotionally."

Stiles leans forward but doesn't say a word. He just lets Peter say what he's thinking.

"I remember loving my pack. Caring about the children. Cora. She was just a pup. Eleven years old and small for her age. I remember picking up things for her at the store, teaching her games, reading to her, just basically spoiling her more because Talia doted on Derek and Maddie and was training Laura. I worried for Cora. She… was just a pup but she had a devious side I appreciated and loved. But I look back and think and I don't feel what I felt then. I don't feel much of anything other than anger. Rage, really."

Stiles knows Peter feels pain as well, but it's so mixed up with the rage that it's indistinguishable. It burns him, all of it right now, and getting Peter to see there could be more to him won't be easy. 

"The people who did this, they wanted you dead. They wanted Cora dead. Don't you want to say fuck them and give her a good life, instead? Don't you want to at least try?"

"I want to shred them to pieces with my teeth and claws, steal their breath and heartbeat and lives, rip and bite until there's nothing left but bloody gore," Peter says, his eyes glowing blue.

Stiles can feel it under his own skin, the need to do just that. It's almost sexual, the lust for it, like he's under a spell and Peter put him there. He feels as if he doesn't do something soon he'll die in agony. The need in Peter pulls at Stiles's darkness, the insatiable part of him that makes him so good at his job. The part that enjoys making the guilty scream for mercy, then denying said mercy with a sharp smile.

"You'll have your justice," Stiles says, the promise coming out low and rough. "But it doesn't have to be either-or. What happens when I leave? What about Cora? They tried to take her from you, and did take her pack from her. What I felt from her imprint, it's hard to describe. She wasn't right when she left. So soon after losing so many pack bonds, with no one to look after her? I'm sure she lived but I don't know in what condition. The trauma would be too much for anyone, but she was so young."

Peter is silent, though Stiles can feel his emotions shifting, turning, as he thinks on Stiles's words. Then, "Why isn't she with Derek and Laura?"

"I don't think they know she lived," Stiles says.

"Laura should have felt Cora's pack bond, but she abandoned her, as well."

Stiles doesn't point out the obvious, that Laura and Derek would have been just as traumatized, or that Laura was young herself, too new to being Alpha to truly take over the remains of the pack as she should. Leaving her uncle catatonic in the hospital was proof enough of that, though just thinking of that detail is enough to make Stiles want to visit revenge on Laura, as well.

"Perhaps Cora and I have more in common than I believed," Peter says.

"I can find her," Stiles says. He nearly jumps at the chance to point this out. It doesn't matter what reason Peter is going to use, what matters is that he focuses on something beyond his pain and anger. "We can go get her, wherever she is, and bring her home."

Peter is far from stupid, of course. "I know what you're doing. But… you aren't wrong. Entirely."

Stiles puts on an exaggerated innocent face. "I'm only doing my job."

"Right. And putting me up in this house with a home nurse, that's just you doing your job? Posing as my loving husband? Researching my old life and stocking the house with my favorite foods, my favorite books? All of that?"

"I couldn't leave you there in that place," Stiles says quietly. "And you should be comfortable."

"I had a look around in the desk. My name is on the deed to this house, Stiles. I know I'm not familiar with careers in vengeance, but it seems like that's going above and beyond."

And Stiles, he's not sure how to answer that because he's not sure why he did it in the first place. Other than, "It seemed like the right thing to do?"

If Stiles only had expressions to go on, he'd think Peter was wholly unimpressed with that answer. Fortunately, it's not, and he can feel the man's reluctant amusement.

* * *

The full moon is fast approaching. When Peter was catatonic, it was a simple enough decision to take him down to the basement and put him into magical bindings so he couldn't hurt himself. Or get out and hurt others, but that was a secondary concern.

Now that Peter is lucid, Stiles is worried.

Not just because he's not sure what will happen, but the lead-up to the full moon is tense. Stiles was sure to warn Tel not to visit. Peter's rage has burned low and deep, inside him, hidden. Now that he's awake and the moon is pulling at his more feral side, he's dangerous at every turn. He can't harm Stiles permanently, but he could sure hurt him enough to cause an inconvenience. 

He's impatient, too. As soon as he heard Stiles on the phone with Tel, discussing the whereabouts of the insurance investigator who falsely ruled the Hale fire accidental, he's wanted to go do damage. And while maybe, possibly, Peter will be strong enough on the full moon to do that, until then, he's just not healed up enough. 

There's a way Stiles could help him, but he's reluctant to do it like that. And 'reluctant' is understating it, although there is an up side, since the connection would feel enough like a pack bond to help anchor Peter during the full moon.

"But you could heal me. The rest of the way?" Peter asks when Stiles tries to wiggle out of an explanation.

"There's still a lot of damage, but you're a werewolf and with some of my energy, yeah. You _could_ be good as new in a few days. Maybe. No promises, okay?" Stiles says, and that's when he realizes he's already made up his mind. If Peter wants it, if he agrees, then Stiles will go through with it.

"Is it some kind of ritual? How complicated is it?" Peter wants to know.

"Fairly simple, actually. I rarely do it, though. There are… side effects."

"Will it harm you? Injure you in some way?" Peter asks curiously. "I've heard of ways to take someone's wounds on yourself but I would only wish that on my enemies, not an ally."

Stiles isn't sure if he's disappointed by that designation or if he's touched for Peter to be thinking about his wellbeing. "The side effects would be on you. You'd gain some of my abilities, to a lesser degree, while we were connected. That includes empathy, which some people find disturbing. Especially around me."

The last time he connected with someone to heal them, he had to knock Tel unconscious because he was too freaked out by the magnitude of Stiles's anger at Tel's attackers, plus whatever else Stiles had been feeling at the time. He's not even sure what it was that disturbed his nephew so much, just that Tel never spoke of it again beyond thanking him for saving his life.

"That's all?" Peter asks.

"I'm not a nice person," Stiles says, dropping his usual facade enough to show Peter he's serious. "I'm a demon with a knack for bloody vengeance. But… if you really want to try, we can do a trial run. Just a few minutes. See if it's something you can handle or if it's just too… I don't know. _Unpleasant_."

"I can tell you now I'll want to keep going. Plus it levels the playing field, don't you think? You seem to know what I'm feeling all the time, but so far it's been a one-way street. A little unfair to me, you have to admit."

Peter's not lying. He's actually… intrigued, with the slightest bit of excitement. Stiles shakes his head. He doesn't know what Peter thinks it's going to be like, that he's looking forward to it.

"Well? Are we waiting for something?" Peter asks.

"Maybe I need to prepare for you… feeling me," Stiles says, and hopes he doesn't sound as wary as he feels. Not that it will matter, once Peter has access to his emotions.

Peter gives a sharp, predatory smile and then Stiles hears what he just said echo again in his head. His face heats and he turns away. 

"You know what I mean," he mutters. It's ridiculous that someone's smile could make him feel so off-balance and… well, more than his face has heated. The suggestion in Peter's expression has him wishing he could fan himself without looking like an idiot. _Goddammit, I'm a badass demon with centuries more experience than this **puppy**_ , he tells himself. But the pep talk isn't working and Stiles still can't even turn back and face him. Dammit. When's the last time he had a client he wanted to jump? _Never_.

"I don't believe you gave me any warning when you began 'feeling' me," Peter says, and while there's a dark, suggestive tone to his words, there's also the emotion behind it. Irritation and impatience. 

Stiles blows out a breath. "Fine. C'mere," Stiles says. "It's not like you'll know how to interpret half of what you feel anyway. And I've got to warn you about separating my feelings from your own. It might be hard to do, and if I think you're losing yourself in it, I'm cutting off the connection immediately."

"It would help if you told me how to do that," Peter says. "'Losing myself' may be enjoyable in the proper circumstances, but it doesn't sound like fun in this case. So any actual, practical advice you could give me would be much appreciated."

Damn, the snark is so hot. "So you can take direction, is what you're saying?" Stiles asks, giving Peter a smile more lascivious than is decent.

Peter smiles wider, his teeth looking sharper than they have any right to be while the rest of him looks completely human. Is he gaining more control over himself and his shifts, or is it entirely in Stiles's head? "Again, that might be enjoyable in the proper circumstances."

The most amazing thing is that Peter means it. He _means it_. The nonstop rage and pain has parted like a curtain, letting Stiles see what Peter might be without it. Who he could be, once his need for justice and revenge has been met. The glimpse of naughty playfulness nearly steals Stiles's breath.

And beyond seeing it as hope for Peter's future, Stiles is affected by the possibilities Peter is putting in his head. But he can't think about that right now. Right. Healing. Energy. Powers… empathy.

"You have to know yourself. Being self-aware is most important," Stiles tells him. "When you know your own emotions, your own thoughts, then you're more likely to be able to discern which emotions come from outside. We'll be starting alone, just the two of us. If you want to keep going, then once you've gotten some experience we can try being around others. Thankfully the ability will be muted, not quite as strong as my own ability is, so I can teach you more easily how to block out feelings that aren't yours."

Peter nods seriously. "Let's do it, then."

Stiles gestures to a chair and pulls his own in front of it, so they will sit face to face. "Okay. Sit here and give me your hands."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's POV on what's been happening. He wakes up with a demon husband. Who wouldn't be wary?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some really great advice from Twisted_Mind on this one, and so I have to say thanks for that. Thank you to Majoline for the super fast beta.

It's the Wolf Moon. He's playing with Cora because Maddie said she was too old for pup games and was going to wait for Derek and Laura to come home. Apparently the older children were going to listen to music in the basement once the moon rose.

Cora wants to play hide and seek, and she wants to hide, even knowing full well Peter can track her in no time at all. She never gives up. Peter sees so much of himself in her. 

"Be smart about it," he tells her, smiling fondly. She's tried a few times to think of inventive ways to hide her scent and heartbeat, but so far he's found her each time. Maybe this time she'll think of something that will give him pause, though he doubts it. She's still only a pup, though she's learning more playing with Peter than she would with anyone else. Derek is a good tracker, but he's been too distracted lately to pay Cora the attention she needs.

He really should look in on Derek more often. He's seemed less depressed and broody lately, but more secretive. Peter hopes it's not anything self-destructive, at least without him there to watch and make sure he doesn't take anything too far.

Peter sits on the stairs and counts silently, eyes closed like a dutiful uncle (Cora caught him with his eyes open once and had a fit over it). When he's done, he announces he's ready and coming for her, but he doesn't even hear her heartbeat.

He smiles. She's giving him a challenge this time. He'll be sure to tell her how proud he is once he finds her. He's looking for her when all hell breaks loose at once.

He doesn't know where the fire starts. He doesn't hear it. He barely smells smoke before there are walls of flames and screams around him, and then all he can smell is poison and flesh burning. All he _feels_ is the other pain.

It's not the pain of losing his hair, his skin, his muscle to the wild inferno. It's another pain, much worse, that causes him to wish for death.

At first it's the other betas and the human pack members. He feels them die, one after the other, and it's like having his limbs chopped off. Over. And over. And again. But Talia…

There are no words, no fancy metaphors for what it's like to lose her. Hers has been his strongest bond and has been since he was an infant. Before she was Alpha, when she was just the big, bossy sister he idolized and irritated constantly. The girl he followed around like a shadow, who he continued to follow once she was a woman. The one person in his family he loved more than anyone else, and that had nothing to do with her status. She was his _sister_ , and when he feels her die, feels her go from _is_ to _isn't_ to _was_ , he howls in pain and fury. 

Someone did this to them. Someone burned them all down in their own den. But at that moment, Peter doesn't care who did it. He only wants to curl up with Talia's body until the flames and smoke finish taking him, as well.

He blacks out. He has no idea how he survives, except it is what he has always done.

* * *

He gets flashes. Flash _backs_. He struggles to come out of the darkness where his only company is pain. And rage.

Revenge is the only real thought he has. He doesn't know it's strong enough to bring an avatar of vengeance and justice to his side.

* * *

(There is one other time when he is almost lucid, before he wakes to the nurse and to Stiles. The memory is vague. He's trying to heal, and confused about the absence of the bonds. It's before the rage builds so he's pared down to only pain and the will to survive. He reaches out to someone, the strongest bond left. He more than reaches, he grapples with it, blind and fumbling and confused. He doesn't remember what happened next, only that when he is fully in himself again, he can't feel any bonds left. The last remnants of his anchor, his pack, are gone.)

* * *

He fights through darkness. Through madness. Some days all he knows is the memory of the flames licking his skin. On worse days he feels Talia die, over and over again. He is not aware enough to weep, and once he is aware he doesn't dare give over to any emotion. He holds himself together tightly, feigning continued catatonia, attempting to gather himself and any meager advantage he might have left.

He finds he has little advantage here, over the vengeance demon. And Stiles is impossible to categorize.

He is savior and jailer. Tormentor and healer. Reminder of all Peter has lost. Vision of the vengeance he may finally receive. He speaks of justice in the tones of the true believer, as if it is a sacrament they can and will perform. Peter can hear blood-soaked screams between every word and it thrills him. _Stiles_ thrills him, if only for what he is.

His ability to read Peter's emotions is less thrilling. It puts Peter at a disadvantage, and Peter has enough of those already. He knows there has to be something there, something he can use. A way to turn the tables on Stiles. He can almost see the outline of it. It's in the way Stiles talks about how strongly Peter's will pulled him, because Peter can hear the respect and wonder in his voice. It's there in the way Stiles — hundreds of years older than Peter and much more experienced — practically fumbles around with his words when he's embarrassed. How does someone like that even have the ability to feel embarrassment anymore?

The signs of attraction are fleeting, there one moment and gone the next, but Peter notices when they appeared. He's used to attraction, or at least was before the fire took half the skin from his face and twisted it, scarred it, but Stiles doesn't even seem to see his disfigurement.

Still, it's not enough. Stiles holds almost every card, and Peter — to extend the metaphor — can only glimpse his hand. He has so many questions, but he's waiting for the right moment to spring them.

When Stiles tells him what can help heal him, it seems too good to be true. Almost. Stiles's reluctance doesn't seem feigned. His reasons sound honest. So Peter takes a chance and agrees. Demands, practically. Because finally, it's a bit of power he can balance.

He's not prepared for Stiles's hands.

They're nice hands. Large. Warm against his own. Really… nice. Peter has never really been attracted to _parts_ of people before, but Stiles hands might be the things to make him start.

He worried he lost the ability to be _moved_ like this. Sexually. The damage from the fire, his nerves…

But apparently that isn't going to be a problem. This, though, the attraction, may very well be.

Stiles has his eyes closed and his hands are holding Peter's. The warmth of skin gives way to a different warmth, though the magical heat never becomes uncomfortable. Peter closes his eyes, tries not to think about heat of any kind.

And then Peter can feel the tentative connection reaching toward him. He latches onto it with a desperation that shocks him. He knew, intellectually, that he'd been missing the pack bonds he used to have. That it was dreadful to be alone in his head, to not have the connections he used to share with his pack.

He hadn't realized how desperate he was to get something like that back. He can feel his extra energy going into Stiles, can feel Stiles in turn using that same energy to heal him. But at the same time, emotions not his own begin to trickle into the edges of his consciousness.

Stiles feels… happy. Surprised. And when Peter pulls on the connection between them, wrapping himself around it so it can't leave anytime soon, Stiles feels even more pleased. Peter doesn't understand why, only that it feels good to have something there, and maybe Stiles likes it as much as Peter. The intimacy of the connection is not something he was prepared for. He wants to hide his fear, but he notices — in tiny hints and slow reveal — that this is something Stiles was afraid of, too. He's not sure why, because Stiles seems to revel in the closeness. So it's not the bond itself — connection, not a bond, not like pack but oh, it feels so much like that — that Stiles is fearful of. 

It's what Peter might feel of Stiles. It's-

"I can feel you wondering," Stiles says. "But I can't read your mind. Maybe you should just come out and ask if you want to know something."

Peter opens his eyes and finds Stiles watching him. He smirks. "Where's the fun in that?"

Stiles's attraction trickles over the connection but he doesn't seem to notice. Or remember Peter can feel that, too. Instead, Stiles dismisses the topic and says, "You know we can only do this a little at a time. The healing, I mean. It will hurt as your nerves regrow, and you need to get used to it bit by bit."

Peter doesn't like the sound of that. "How long will it take?"

"I don't know for sure," Stiles says. "But I'll do a lot tonight on the inside, work on making you stronger. I know you want to be ready to go when I… question the insurance investigator."

And then, suddenly, Peter feels something he can barely put into thought. It's dark and hungry, a predator to rival his own inner wolf. But it's not a rival. It's an ally. And it's something at the heart of who Stiles is.

It's like Stiles is suddenly laid bare before him. Exposed with his layers and masks stripped away. It's only a glimpse, Peter knows without a doubt, and he wants more of it. He wants to see it all.

Stiles snatches his hands out of Peter's and looks away. His breath comes quick and shallow. But Peter holds on to the connection and watches him carefully, feeling his shocked fear. Turning it over in his mind until he can understand it.

It clicks together when he remembers what Stiles said about Peter possibly finding Stiles's emotions 'unpleasant'. He nearly laughs out loud. And then he does, because he knows it will help. Peter wants to let Stiles know it's fine. More than fine. And his laughter does shock Stiles enough that Peter can grab his hands again and hold them.

"Why would you ever think I would find your darkness anything but absolutely delightful, Stiles?"

Stiles narrows his eyes, distrust humming along the connection, disbelief following along. He seems almost too wary to hope, but that's there, too. "But…"

Peter doesn't know why he didn't understand it from the beginning. The way Stiles talks to him about getting revenge. The unholy light in his eyes when he speaks of justice. The fact that Stiles was drawn to Peter because of how strong his will was, how deep his need for bloody revenge. He's literally a vengeance demon. It's who he is, down to his bones.

Suddenly, the prospect of visiting Meyers with Stiles is something to look forward to. There's no reason to think of Stiles as a begrudged necessity.

Peter wants to see what Stiles can do. Wants to see him face to face with someone who deserves punishment. Someone like Meyers, who wronged Peter's family, his pack, and who can lead them to more people who deserve to be burned like they burned Peter's whole life.

He has the feeling Stiles will be absolutely perfect.

He can feel Stiles's confusion. He smiles. He'll understand in time.

Peter squeezes Stiles's hands. "Do you need to concentrate while you heal me, or can we talk?"

"I'm fine for talking," Stiles says, and he starts to feel curious.

"Why did you decide to pose as my husband?" Peter says, forcing his voice to be mostly bland and idle, though he really is curious about the answer.

Which of course Stiles can feel, he remembers at the last moment. But Stiles doesn't comment on that. Instead, he asks, "What do you mean?"

"I would think there were other, less drastic ways to get me out of the hospital and into your care. You could have pretended to be my nephew, for example," Peter points out.

Stiles blinks. "I don't know. I guess… Well, I didn't really think about it," he says, and frowns. "Which isn't like me."

Peter smiles. "Did you have some burning fantasy of being my spouse, Stiles?"

Stiles goes still. Peter hasn't been very aware of the constant fidgeting until it stops. Peter can feel embarrassment coming through their connection, which is interesting, to say the least. He wants to prod at that weakness and find out if he can find out more. But at the same time… he wants Stiles to not get angry with him.

In the past, Peter has prided himself on getting under people's skins. It puts him at a distinct advantage if he can. 

While Peter is trying to decide where to press for more of this reaction, Stiles is rolling his eyes and saying, "No." 

A rather belated rejoinder, Peter thinks. Stiles must think so too, because another trickle of embarrassment comes along the connection right after he says it.

Stiles huffs. "Look, I don't know why," he says. Oddly enough, it seems to be the truth. "I don't usually get this close to clients. You can let go of my hands now; the connection is pretty solid. It'll keep going until I end it."

Peter tilts his head and considers Stiles, then looks down at where their hands are still joined. Stiles follows his movement and pulls away, a hint of self deprecation in the twist of his lips.

And then Stiles begins to pace the room. "I don't usually get this close. I don't buy clients their favorite foods or books. I don't set up houses for them, or put deeds in their names. I don't… I don't know why this one is different, but it's been like this since I first felt you. I've just been going along with my instincts, okay?"

"And I approve of you doing that. There's been times when my instincts have been the only thing keeping me alive. I wish I'd followed them more closely in the past," Peter says, the last part mostly to himself. There'd been a few times, leading up to the fire, that he'd ignored his instincts. He wouldn't be doing that again. He's learned that excruciatingly painful lesson.

Stiles turns back to him on his way back across the room, and his pacing halts. "Oh. Well, okay then. I guess… werewolf, yeah. Instincts are important." His eyes see more than they should, Peter thinks.

"I just thought you'd be more aware of your actions than you seem to be," Peter says after a few quiet moments.

"I'm aware," Stiles says, almost too quickly to be the truth. His heart may not beat traitorously, and his scent doesn't sour, but everything else about his posture screams _lie_. 

Peter raises an eyebrow. Stiles looks away. Peter finds it amusing. Amusing… and a little bit adorable. The big bad vengeance demon is a step away from pouting.

"I can feel that," Stiles says through clenched teeth. Peter can feel his embarrassment. He's acting more irritated than he actually is. 

Giving him a mild look seems to remind him that yes, Peter can feel his emotions as well. Stiles gives what Peter can only classify as an inward blush, though he shows nothing on the outside.

Peter gets up and sits down on the couch, where it's more comfortable and he can rest his head back, folding his hands and relaxing, letting the connection and Stiles's magic heal him. Stiles's embarrassment goes away, and he seems to be thinking hard about something.

Telepathy would have been more handy than empathy in this case. He's curious about what Stiles is thinking. Well, wondering what Stiles is thinking is a good distraction from wondering when he'll be healed enough to leave the house.

He can feel Stiles watching him. He keeps his eyes closed and hums. 

Then Stiles sighs. "You're right. I should be more aware. Being an empath involves a lot of 'know thyself', or you get your emotions tangled up with other people's and you can't tell where you end or begin."

Peter opens his eyes.

"Don't worry, yours isn't strong enough for that to be a problem. But me, I do have to worry about that. And to keep it under control, I need to know exactly what my own feelings are so I can differentiate them from other people's. And apparently my feelings have been a little wonkier lately than I thought," Stiles says. Peter can feel he's unnerved.

"Want to talk about your wonky feelings?" Peter asks, smiling a little.

"Not particularly," Stiles says dryly.

"Let me know if you change your mind. Apparently I'm not going anywhere," Peter says.

Stiles shrugs. "You'll be healed enough to go with me tonight to talk to the fire investigator."

"I'm going to do more than talk to him," Peter growls. 

Stiles smirks, and Peter can feel the demon's darkness well up again. "Of course. I'll help you."

"I don't think you have any idea how attractive that is," Peter says.

Confusion."What?" Stiles asks.

"Your bloodlust," Peter says quietly. "It's quite… alluring."

Stiles is a combination of embarrassment and shock, and he doesn't look like he believes Peter at all. Or he's afraid to.

Peter lets the subject drop for the time being. There's no reason to push it now. He's already in a much better position with Stiles than he was at the beginning, before he was healing and before he had a connection to him. He's gained ground, and there's no reason to make anything uncomfortable.

At least not yet.

* * *

Garrison Meyers lives in a small rental in town. He drives a school bus now, having left the insurance world shortly after the Hale fire. He probably harbors some guilt for his part in it, whatever that part was. 

Neither Stiles nor Peter care that he begs. Neither of them care that he says he's sorry. He gets bound to a table and Stiles threatens him with a large, magically summoned knife that glows an ominous silver-blue in the dimness of the man's kitchen.

"Tell us everything you know," Stiles says, his voice low and melodious. It gives Peter shivers. Makes him want him even more.

Garrison Meyers tells them everything he can, and then he dies choking on his own blood. Stiles does very little of the actual torture, but Peter can feel how excited it makes him. How satisfied.

When it's over and Meyers is dead, Peter wipes his bloody claws off with a handkerchief Stiles thoughtfully provides. He turns to Stiles, who is flushed and panting despite his inhuman physiology. 

"You were magnificent," Peter tells him.

Stiles's eyes widen. "You did all the work," he says. "I just-"

Peter tilts Stiles's chin with one careful finger and leans in, stopping a scant inch before his lips. "You are amazing," he whispers. He can feel how much the closeness is affecting the demon, how difficult it is for him to stay absolutely still when he wants, craves, just as much as Peter does.

"I think you're a little high on bloodlust at the moment," Stiles whispers back.

"As are you," Peter counters. "You enjoyed what we did."

"He deserved it," Stiles says fiercely. "Every piece of him we took, it was nothing compared to the soul he sold away. I can't believe he agreed to look away for money. There were… there were _children_ and he knew they were murdered, that it wasn't an accident."

Peter shoves aside the imagery that brings up and he focuses on Stiles. On the spark in his eyes. On the intensity of his convictions. On the heat of his body, this close. 

"I want to kiss you," Peter tells him. He licks his lip and lets his eyes drop to the demon's mouth. "And I want to do more than kiss you."

"What the fuck is stopping you, then?" Stiles asks hoarsely.

Peter's eyes flick to the corpse lying on the kitchen table. "I'd rather we be somewhere else."

Stiles smiles, wraps a hand around the back of Peter's neck, and says, "Let me take care of that."

Peter gets an instant of feeling Stiles's mischief before they are spinning through the space between the Meyers house and what Peter and Stiles are now calling home. And then they are standing in front of Peter's own bed, in the house Stiles arranged for him, and Stiles is looking at him with a challenging smirk.

"Very nice," Peter says, and then he strikes, kissing Stiles hard.

Stiles moans at the first contact, and louder when Peter takes advantage of his open mouth to tease his tongue with his own. He's careful about it, but rough enough to give Stiles a taste of what could be.

But Stiles isn't like anyone else Peter's ever kissed. He doesn't beg. He doesn't ask. He doesn't even wait to see if Peter will give him what he wants. He simply takes it for his own, and Peter wonders how he ever thought Stiles would be any other way.

Stiles takes over the kiss and practically dares Peter to try to take back control. Peter takes the bait and then they are falling onto the bed, Stiles beneath Peter but very much still the one calling the shots. Their tongues chase each other back and forth while their hands roam and tug at clothing. Peter has his shirt stripped off over his head before he realizes it's happening. He rucks up Stiles's shirt to uncover skin — hot and smooth and perfect under his hands.

"Take off your pants," Stiles growls, fingers already nimble at Peter's fly. 

It makes Peter's head spin. "You too," he counters, then toes off his shoes so he can push his trousers down his legs and off. 

Then Stiles rolls them over, putting Peter under him, looking down at him as a bolt of lust goes through the both of them and Peter's unsure where it originated. 

Not that it matters. Peter's going to chase every single pleasure with Stiles that he can, no matter whose it is. The empathy shared between them is only serving to make the encounter that much more intense.

"Let me know if it gets to be too much," Stiles says, but before Peter can ask what he means, Stiles lets go a little of… something. Magic. Hot/cold energy. It's in his hands as he touches Peter, as he strokes his fingertips across Peter's skin.

"Fuck, yes," Peter growls. 

Stiles hears him. Gives him a sharp, pleased smile. "Yes. Fuck."

Peter looks down at his body, where Stiles's gaze is roaming, and he winces. He'd forgotten about his scars for the moment. Just long enough to bare himself and put them under scrutiny.

"Hey, no," Stiles says. He runs his hand over a mess of twisted scar tissue and Peter can't really feel it like he feels Stiles's touch elsewhere, but it's still there. And Stiles is touching him like he doesn't care about the scars.

"You don't have to do that," Peter mutters.

"Touch you? Believe me, no one is twisting my arm. I know what I'm doing," Stiles says, and there's still heat in his eyes. Passion. He still wants Peter despite his looks. "Stop thinking so hard, Wolf."

And they're bound, aren't they? Peter feels how much Stiles wants him. Can feel there is no revulsion, no pity. There's only honest, straightforward lust and fascination running through Stiles at the moment, and Peter should take advantage of that.

God knows he wants to.

Stiles smiles and his eyes go even darker. "There you go. Now, tell me the truth. Would you rather fuck… or be fucked?"

Peter shivers. Stiles leans down and takes his mouth like he so clearly wants to take the rest of him: messy and hard. Peter moans into the kiss and chases the pleasure he feels building between them. 

It doesn't matter that it's been years since Peter's been fucked. He's a werewolf. He can take it. His own voice whispers to him, tells him his secret — he wants to take it.

"Fuck me," Peter says, hoarse and panting when Stiles finally pulls away.

"I like the sound of that," Stiles says, tilting his head. "Almost as good as hearing you cry out my name."

Peter raises his eyebrows. "I haven't done that."

Stiles grins. "You haven't done it _yet_."

Peter huffs a laugh. "I'm sure you'll earn it."

"I will," Stiles promises.

He does. 

The sex is incredible. It can barely be termed something so simple as _sex_ , actually. Between the magical connection they share which is almost like a pack bond, and the actual magic Stiles employs during the act, and the incredible feedback loop of pleasure shared through their empathy, the sex transcends an ordinary coupling.

And Peter does cry out Stiles's name. Numerous times. He'd be embarrassed about the fact if he was the only one, or if he wasn't quite so sated afterward.

Peter's not just satisfied. He's left feeling completely wrung out, limp, sore, suffering sweet aftershocks like tiny orgasms for some minutes after the action has halted. There's a buzz under his skin he's not entirely sure isn't magic, and yet it just feels… right. 

They don't touch after the sex, which Peter is grateful for. He's covered in sweat and come but he feels if he's touched once more he might crumble into a pleasant nothingness. Stiles seems to understand, so there's no spooning or hand holding, but they lie in bed, side by side, and Peter eventually drifts off, a puddle of contentedness.


	5. Chapter 5

Peter wakes feeling better than he has in ages. When he rubs a hand over his face, he feels smooth skin. He feels his skin, at that, not just numb scar tissue. He's healed, just like that.

Stiles did that.

And that's when he realizes he doesn't feel Stiles's emotions anymore. The connection is either muted or gone altogether. Peter frowns and looks around the empty room.

He can hear Stiles in the kitchen, munching on something. It sounds crunchy, like cereal. Peter's stomach rumbles. He pulls a robe on over his naked body and goes in search of food and company.

(And answers, to be honest. The missing bond has him feeling off-kilter. He wasn't aware he'd miss it.)

"You're sad," Stiles says when Peter enters the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

Peter wouldn't have put it as baldly as that. "Did you remove the connection?"

Stiles frowns. "You're healed. There's no reason to keep it."

Without conscious thought, Peter lifts his hand to his face. "Yes, thank you for that. I-" Words fail. He feels almost whole again with the scars gone. 

"But you're still unhappy," Stiles says. He puts his spoon down and tilts his head. "I didn't think the connection being gone would affect you like this."

Peter shakes his head. "It.. it was like a pack bond. Something to hold on to." He doesn't say losing it reminds him too much of losing his pack. Doesn't say he could have used it to anchor himself. He doesn't want it to be that important, and yet it was. In such a short period of time, it… was.

He doesn't say those things but Stiles's face softens like he can hear the words anyway. Damn him for being so perceptive. "Do you want it back?" Stiles asks quietly. "Even though it means feeling what I'm feeling?"

"Why do you say it like that?" Peter asks.

Stiles frowns. Shakes his head. "Like what?"

"Like it's something you think I should run screaming from. What have I done to make you think I'd ever react like that? Did I yesterday?"

"No," Stiles admits.

"Just the opposite, right?" Peter says.

Stiles nods, looking adorably confused and very young, despite being a few hundred years old.

"I thought I made myself completely clear, Stiles. The darker side of yourself is intriguing."

Stiles doesn't blush but Peter thinks it's a near thing. "I guess I can put it back. But I removed it for a good reason. I needed to scry and it takes a lot of concentration to do so."

Peter raises his eyebrows, immediately curious. "What were you scrying for?"

Stiles grins. "It was a 'who' and… Cora. Your niece. I found her."

Peter goes still. "Where?" he barely chokes out.

Stiles's look softens. "She's in South America. I've already been in touch with the pack's emissary there, so they're expecting us."

"She's really alive," Peter says wonderingly. "Even when you told me… even _now_ it's hard to believe."

Stiles gets up from his seat and Peter doesn't know what he's doing until Stiles's arms are around him, holding him. Holding him _together_.

Peter lets him do it. Gratefully. "What's she doing in South America? And where… we're talking a whole continent."

"She's in Peru. And I don't have the whole story yet. You can ask her your questions when you see her," Stiles reminds him with a smile.

Peter nods. 

"Would you like me to put the connection back now?" Stiles asks.

Peter leans in and nuzzles Stiles's neck. "Yes."

Stiles lets Peter scent him and turns into the touch, even. "It's not going to be as strong as before. I don't need your energy to help heal you."

"So more subtle?" Peter asks. _Like a pack bond, he thinks._

Stiles looks at him like he can read his thoughts. He smiles just a little. "Yes."

Peter is the one to take Stiles's hands this time. He feels the bond — connection — snap into place. Stiles is right, it's much more subtle. But Peter has experience with this kind of thing, and he can definitely feel it. He sighs in relief. "Thank you, Stiles."

Stiles is bemused, Peter can tell. He doesn't understand, not entirely. Peter isn't sure he understands himself, either, just knows he feels empty without a pack bond and the connection he has with Stiles helps. It's not the same, but he's hoping he and Cora can bond and bring back something of what he's lost. 

"Are you teleporting us to Peru?" Peter asks.

Stiles laughs. "That's beyond my abilities. I can't travel that far in one shot with a passenger. Maybe if I was alone and taking short jumps I could do it, but that tires me out something awful. It would have to be a big emergency for me to do that."

"So how are we getting there?" Peter asks.

Stiles looks amused as he rolls his eyes. "We're flying. First class, of course."

* * *

Peru is beautiful, but Peter can't appreciate it. He insists they hire a car from the airport and ride directly to Cora's pack. Stiles agrees. Peter can feel Stiles's excitement building to match Peter's own. 

They drive through, not to where Cora's pack is, but to a waystation type village where their driver says he won't go any farther. The ride has already been long, and Peter's confused.

Stiles says, "Cora's pack is in the forest," he explains when they're alone. "It's a mixed pack, and Cora is the only wolf. They're still weres, but more like their surroundings and native animals. They reflect the environment. Lots of South American weres are jaguars, sometimes bears, but I think Cora's pack is even more diverse."

Peter's heard of other shifters, but he's never thought of being in a pack with them. He wonders how that works. He's proud Cora has made a space for herself in such a pack, but he does feel a stab of worry that she's too well integrated, too happy in her new pack, to want to go back to Beacon Hills with him.

Stiles takes his hand.

Peter loves/hates that Stiles can feel his insecurities. But it's not unlike a particularly strong pack bond. Packmates who are really in tune with each other often can feel emotions that strongly. Peter doesn't want to think about how much of a crutch he's using the connection as. To hold on to. As an anchor. 

He should focus on his revenge, make that his anchor, but Stiles was right when he asked Peter to consider what happens _after_. He has more to live for than revenge, now. Hopefully, he'll soon have Cora. (He wishes he could count on Stiles as a thing to live for. But Stiles is doing a job, no matter how close they seem to be getting in the meanwhile, and when justice is served…

Well. Stiles will be moving on, won't he?

"What's wrong?" Stiles asks as they travel farther from civilization and closer to the forest. 

Peter shakes his head. "Nothing I can put into words," he lies, then remembers Stiles can probably sense deception as well as Peter can. "Or rather, nothing I want to put into words right now."

Stiles nods. "If you get the urge to share, I'll be here."

But he won't always be there, and that's… well it shouldn't be a problem but it is. Peter needs to nip this in the bud. He's not allowed to have feelings for the vengeance demon.

The sun is beginning to set. The clouds are on fire in shades of pink and orange. There are mountains in the distance, and the terrain Stiles and Peter are travelling on is getting softer, less rocky. Closer to the forest.

Peter realizes they are travelling much faster than a brisk walk, though they are in no way running. However, Stiles seems to be doing something magical for them to cover more ground. They're approaching the forest way before they should have been.

Stiles flashes him a grin once Peter points it out. "Of course," Stiles says. "Otherwise we'd be walking for days."

Peter doesn't know what he's expecting once they reach the pack's territory. He feels it when they step over the boundaries, a static charge of magic and instinctual knowledge. The area is well-warded; their emissary must be powerful.

What he's not expecting is an armful of teenage girl to come barrelling at him, bowling him over, and hugging him tightly.

"Uncle Peter, Uncle Peter," Cora whispers, holding on like she'll never let go.

Peter can feel Stiles's soft, warm happiness for them both. As for Peter, he's in awe. She smells like another pack, another country, and yet underneath all that is the unmistakeable base scent of herself, one Peter remembers from much happier times when she was a pup playing games with her favorite uncle.

Peter laughs and ruffles her hair. "Let me up, pup. I need a good look at you."

Cora complies and Peter looks her over. He's missed so much. She's practically a woman. "You're beautiful," he says, and touches her chin. "You've got your mother's good looks."

Tears fill her eyes. "I'm so sorry I left. I don't remember a lot, just… running. I ran so far and I left you behind."

Peter drags her into another hug. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. You're safe, you're with me, and I'm so thankful you survived."

"Come on inside, you need to eat something," Cora says when Peter's stomach makes an embarrassing noise. "You too. Then you can introduce yourself," she says to Stiles.

Stiles grins at her and begins to follow as she leads them into what look like ruins. "I'm Stiles."

"Are you two together?" Cora asks slyly.

Peter looks at Stiles, not knowing how to answer.

Stiles ducks his head. "Kinda."

"Hmm," is Cora's reply.

* * *

The ruins aren't actually ruins. 

"Like Hogwarts!" Stiles says and Peter doesn't understand. Cora does, and she cackles. 

"Exactly," she says. "Anyone coming this deep into the forest would just see some old stones. But you get far enough into the maze, and you're supernatural, you can see the pack village."

"A village? Just how large is the pack?"

Cora shrugs. "Big."

But, as it turns out, Cora has no problem leaving the Peruvian pack behind, not when she has her uncle back in her life. She's less enthused about Stiles, though she looks at him with more respect once she hears what he's done for Peter so far.

Neither Stiles nor Peter mention the word 'demon'. Cora isn't dumb, she knows Stiles isn't an ordinary human. But no one tells her what he is, and for now she's in the dark. Peter thinks that's for the best, at least for now.

They fly back to Beacon Hills. Somewhere along the way, a pack bond forms between Peter and Cora. It would be a good time to tell Stiles he no longer needs their own connection.

But Peter is reluctant to say any such thing. So he doesn't. And surprisingly enough, Stiles doesn't bring it up.

Peter is distracted by Cora, though. She's so different than he remembers, and yet some things have stayed the same. She's slower to smile now, but the smile is the one he knows well. She's bolder with her words, but her wit is as sharp as ever. She hangs back more, though. Watches. Listens. She's a lot more wary than she used to be, and Peter doesn't blame her for that. So is he.

Cora finally gets fed up, it seems, and she asks, "So, what is he?" a week after their return to Beacon Hills.

Peter smiles. "A powerful ally." He knows the answer is only going to frustrate his niece even more.

"You look at him like you're about to beg for the privilege of being devoured. It's kinda gross," Cora says, but she's smirking when she says it.

"I never beg," Peter says with a smirk of his own. He's lying, of course. He did plenty of begging the night he slept with Stiles.

From the other room, Stiles snorts. Peter and Cora both hear him loud and clear. It nearly makes Peter blush, and it makes Cora cackle.

Peter would take offense except it's the first time he's heard her laugh since he got her back.

* * *

They fall into patterns of domesticity. Stiles doesn't seem to mind. Cora begins to warm to him, especially when he asks a bunch of questions about her favorite things and then overnight has a bedroom ready for her, all in her favorite colors and styles. 

Stiles comes home from the grocery store with all the makings of banana splits (even the cherries to top them off), and the three of them eat their delicious treats in front of some movies Peter missed over the years. Some of them Cora has seen and some of them she hasn't.

It's another week before they get the story out of Cora, how she hid and hid and finally fled the scene of the fire, her wolf taking over until she was in a sort of fugue state. She never mentions looking for her alpha. Peter inwardly growls to himself — their alpha should have been looking for her. He's sure he's not imagining the bitter resentment Cora seems to show when Stiles carefully mentions Laura and Derek's names.

Peter just hugs her tighter, tries to make sure she knows she's wanted and loved.

It's not just him, though. Peter sees the way Stiles listens to Cora, the way he speaks to her — he's always sarcastic and blunt, but Peter knows him well enough to see the way he's tender about it. He offers Cora friendship, a place she can call her own, and talks about his own family. He's vague of course, but it's more than Peter thought he would give. 

Seeing Stiles with Cora gives Peter feelings he'd rather not have. The demon is more than what he appears to be. Not just a vengeful, powerful being that's good in bed. He is still those things but he's more than that, a lot more. Peter is drawn to him, fascinated by him, and getting more attached day by day.

* * *

Peter and Cora have been invited along with Stiles to eat takeout dinner at the sheriff's house. Peter has met Tel ("please, call me Tom, only Stiles calls me Tel") Stilinski twice before, and he's still not sure how he feels about the man. However, Stiles loves him, and it's obvious family is important to him, so Peter puts on his best smile and treats the sheriff like an in-law. Stilinski is posing as Stiles's uncle, even though he's actually a many-greats grand nephew. Stiles gets a kick out of it, it seems. He even calls him Uncle Tel sometimes, though Peter can tell it's to get a rise out of the human.

Stilinski is sarcastic and irreverent, which Peter would usually appreciate. He definitely appreciates it in Stiles. But there's something about the way the human looks at Stiles sometimes that makes Peter dislike him. It's nothing especially bad, just… wariness and confusion. Like he loves Stiles but there are things about him he doesn't want to accept.

And that bothers Peter, and he knows it bothers Stiles. Outwardly, Stiles doesn't show it. But his feelings are clear. The sheriff makes Stiles feel something close to shame.

They are picking up dinner at a local Thai restaurant when Stiles goes absolutely still. Cora looks at Peter as if Peter will give the answers, but Peter's busy trying to parse the feelings he's getting from Stiles. Before he can make sense of it other than panic and anger, Stiles speaks.

"It's Tel. He's hurt." And then he disappears right before their eyes.

Peter looks around and sees no one in the restaurant seemed to notice. At least Stiles had enough foresight to make sure of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles blows into the house like an ill wind. He's furious and scared at the same time, a dangerous combination. Once he sees Tel, Stiles takes stock of the situation in a fraction of a second. Tel is hurt and his attacker is gone.

Tel's been shot. He's bleeding out. If Stiles doesn't act soon, his nephew will die. Stiles would never let that happen, at least not for many years to come.

"Hey, hold on," Stiles says. "It's okay. You're going to be okay." He kneels by Tel and takes his hand, bloody from where the man's been trying to staunch his own blood. "I can't heal all of this, but I can at least get the worst of it."

Tel's eyes are glassy, full of pain. Stiles can't take the pain as efficiently as a werewolf, but he can make Tel think he's not in pain. He doesn't like messing with his loved ones' minds that way, but this is an emergency.

Tel breathes easier as soon as Stiles does it. "How…?"

Stiles gives him a tight smile. "Magic. Now let me work."

"Stiles, it's bad. It-"

"I know, Tel," Stiles says. "But I've got this. It's okay."

He's not skilled enough with healing magic to repair what's damaged here, and definitely not fast enough to save Tel. But he can hold the wounds in stasis until he gets to the hospital, he can pause the bleeding . Unfortunately he can't teleport Tel in this condition. He'll have to call an ambulance.

"This isn't like before, I can't connect with you to heal you," Stiles tells him. Is it Stiles's imagination, or is that relief shining now in Tel's eyes? "The best thing I can do this time is get you to the hospital and let doctors work on you."

He calls 911 and explains the situation. Says the sheriff has been shot and needs an ambulance immediately.

Stiles squeezes Tel's bloody hand. "I'll ride with you, make sure my magic holds."

Tel nods. Closes his eyes. Stiles checks to make sure everything is okay, then lets him.

"Rest, then. I'll take care of everything."

* * *

Peter and Cora meet up with him at the hospital. Peter can feel through his connection with Stiles how upset he is. He's past scared for his relative, presumably because he'll be fine now that he has care. But there's a dark rage boiling inside Stiles that Peter recognizes. 

Once it's clear the sheriff will be okay, Stiles takes Peter aside. "Will you stay with him for me? Keep him company? Watch out for him, make sure the staff listen?"

These are things Peter would have done anyway and he says as much.

Stiles feels surprise. "You don't have to."

"I want to. He's important to you," Peter says.

Stiles blinks. Then he leans in, pressing his forehead against Peter's. It's intimate and unexpected. 

Peter puts his hands on Stiles's forearms, squeezing. "I'll take care of things here. Go do what you need to do."

Stiles sucks in a startled breath. He doesn't have to ask the question because Peter is ready to answer before he does.

"It stands to reason you'd go after the bastard who did this," Peter says calmly.

"You just… accept it." The wonder and awe are back. Peter wants to crush the person who ever made Stiles feel he had to hide himself, but he suspects that person is Tel Stilinski.

Peter smiles. Sends a pulse of acceptance and care along their connection as if he were comforting a pack member. "Give them hell, darling."

Stiles's eyes narrow as he focuses in on his next objective. Peter can see his mind working out what he has to do, what will happen. "I will, believe me."

And then Stiles is gone, not even a whisper of a sound as he leaves.

Peter sits outside the recovery room. Tel has already had surgery. The bullet has been removed. Peter listens to a nurse talk to another quietly. It's a miracle, they say, that the bullet didn't hit an artery. Peter thinks it probably did, but Stiles got to Tel in time to fix the major damage.

Cora sits beside him. "You really care about Stiles," she says suddenly.

"What makes you say that?" Peter asks.

Cora scowls. "Because I'm not an idiot?"

Peter smiles slightly. "No, you're not. I may be, though."

"Why?" she asks.

_Because developing feelings for Stiles is probably a stupid thing to do and yet here I am_ , Peter thinks. Some of what he's thinking must show on his face.

Cora wrinkles her nose. "He's good for you. He's scary powerful but you just seem to like that."

"I don't think he'll be staying," Peter says quietly.

"Have you even asked him to?" Cora asks. Which is a good point. Peter's frown must speak for itself because Cora gives him a dry look. "Maybe you should start with that."

"Do you… want him to stay?" Peter asks carefully.

Cora sighs. "I want you to be happy, Uncle Peter. Stiles makes you happy. So yeah, I want him to stick around."

It's a cop-out but Peter doubts she'll offer more of an opinion right now.

A nurse comes out and tells them they're moving the sheriff to his own room and they're welcome to see him as soon as he's settled.

* * *

Stiles stalks like a predator. He tracks the shooter down and follows him, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

The shooter has a smile on his face. He thinks he got away with something. Stiles is going to make sure he never smiles again.

* * *

Tel dozes. Peter sends Cora home to get some food and sleep. They missed dinner after all, and it's past bedtime, even though Cora insists she's too old for a bedtime.

Peter sits beside the sheriff's bed and closes his eyes. He can feel some of what Stiles is feeling. There's dark rage, yes, but also excitement and bloodlust. There's amusement. Peter can only guess what's causing it.

An hour passes and Tel wakes up enough to ask for water. Peter obliges him and then takes his hand, drawing the pain out of the older man.

"Neat trick," the sheriff says. "You learn that in werewolf school?"

Peter smiles. "Top of my class."

Tel gives an amused look. "Where's Stiles?"

Peter shrugs. "Doing his thing, I imagine." Not that he really has to imagine since he can feel the demon's dark amusement. He's making the man who did this to Tel suffer.

Tel winces. "I don't know how you can say it that casually."

"I accept him," Peter says, maybe a little sharper than he should.

"I've tried," Tel says. "I thought I knew what he was, but…" He sighs. "I was captured in Iraq. Hurt pretty badly. Stiles showed up out of nowhere, like he did today, only that time he had to heal me himself. Linked up with me so I could feel everything he was feeling, and then he went out and killed every single enemy in a five kilometer radius. He… had fun with it. I haven't been able to look at him the same way since."

Peter takes his hand away and paces the small room. He doesn't want to get Tel agitated but he doesn't want him to just think this is okay, either. "He loves you," Peter says. "You're probably the only thing in the world he does love."

Tel sighs and looks away. "I know that. I just don't want to feel responsible for what he does."

"You shouldn't," Peter says. "That's just who he is. What he is."

Tel frowns. "I've killed, in the past. Because I was forced to. Because there was no other way. But Stiles, he doesn't care if there's another way. He goes in for the messy, grisly death and destruction and that's… not something I can accept. Especially knowing he's absolutely gleeful about it."

"Stop thinking about it," Peter says. "It has nothing to do with you or your morals. Stiles is who he is, and no amount of pearl clutching is going to change that."

"Harsh," Tel says with a sad smile. "But true."

Peter's glad the man doesn't have children. He seems the type to refuse to let Stiles have a relationship with them, and that would have broken Stiles's heart.

"Did your mother or father know him?" Peter asks.

Tel shakes his head. "My grandmother. Stiles took care of her when she was a little girl."

Then again, maybe Peter is wrong about the kid thing.

"I can't imagine what it would be like to see your family born and dead so many times over," Peter murmurs. "He could avoid all that pain and just not have anything to do with you. It takes a lot of courage to do that."

Tel sucks in a breath. "I've never really thought of that."

Peter does not like this man. He respects him for Stiles's sake, but he doesn't like him.

The conversation is eye-opening, though. It gives him a whole other perspective on Stiles. He sees him now not just as powerful and kind to Cora, but also loyal and courageous. He raised a little girl once, and she probably wasn't the only one. He kept up with his family, despite the strain and heartache it would cause. And he loves Tel, despite the fact the man doesn't love him wholly. 

Peter can't help but think Stiles deserves to have someone love all of him, not just parts of him. He thinks of all the times Stiles was surprised at Peter's acceptance of him, of the way Peter admires particular traits. They're things Tel can't accept, and has probably been vocally against — hell, he wouldn't even have to be vocal about it. Stiles's empathy would have picked up on the man's disapproval. And if he felt it when they were connected, while Stiles was healing the man, did he feel Tel's fear or disgust?

Just how badly was Stiles hurt by that?

Peter's been thinking of Stiles as this ageless, powerful being but really he's so much more fragile than that. At least, his heart is, isn't it? Stiles is, in some ways, still that seventeen year old who lost his humanity in his grief over his mother's death.

The more Peter sees of Stiles, the more he understands. And the more he understands, the more he cares. Damn it. Damn it all to hell. 

Peter's falling in love with the demon, and he can't seem to stop himself.

"Get some rest," Peter says gruffly. He sits next to Tel again and drains more of his pain. "I'll be here if you need anything else."

* * *

Stiles pops into the house for a shower before he heads to the hospital. Nothing else has pinged in relation to Tel's health, and in fact Stiles can tell he's getting better. 

He surprises Cora, who's half asleep on the sofa while an old black and white movie plays.

"Hey, Stiles," she says. "That teleportation stuff is pretty handy, I'm guessing."

Stiles grins tiredly. "It takes a lot out of me, though. Can't do it all the time, and not too far, really."

"Still. Badass," Cora says. 

"Were you waiting up for us?" Stiles asks. 

Cora shrugs. "Couldn't sleep. Not used to being alone, I guess."

Stiles is reminded that the pack she stayed with in Peru was huge, and that she'd been with them nonstop for years. "Want to come with me to get Peter?"

"Nah," Cora says, and yawns. "I think I could probably sleep now. I just…" 

She needed to know everyone was okay, Stiles thinks. "Okay. I'll go on to the hospital and pick Peter up, then bring him home. We might stop for food on the way, though. Want me to grab anything for you?"

Cora shakes her head. "I ate when I got home, and I won't stay up much longer. But you should take Peter to a diner or something. He acts like he's too good for it, but he loves late night waffles."

Stiles grins. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

Cora smiles at him. It's small and quick but it's there, and it makes Stiles feel like he did something important.

* * *

Peter is sitting beside Tel, still drawing his pain, when Stiles quietly opens the door to the room. 

Peter keeps his eyes on Stiles when the demon walks in and over to the bed. Tel's sleeping, and really there's not much pain to draw past the Demerol, but Peter's been doing it anyway. Stiles gives him a grateful look.

"Ready to get out of here?" Stiles whispers.

Tel's eyes open. "Hey there," he says.

Stiles smiles at him. "Hanging in there?" he asks. He holds a hand in the air and Peter can smell his magic and feel his concentration. "You're gonna be fine."

Tel smiles back. "Thanks to you."

Stiles shrugs off the comment. "Peter's been taking care of you, I see."

"The pain thing he does is nice," Tel says. "But I've got something in my IV that's almost as good, so if you need to take him home, go ahead."

Peter wonders why he doesn't ask about the shooter. In the other man's place, Peter would definitely be curious. 

"Yeah, I'm gonna get him some food first, though?" Stiles says. He looks at Peter when he says it, and Peter is reminded then that he hasn't eaten in awhile.

Peter smiles. "I'm starving, so yes. Thank you."

"Cora suggested I take you to a diner for waffles."

"Don't talk about delicious food I can't have in front of me," Tel groans. "I'll probably be having broth and Jello for breakfast."

"Don't get shot and you can eat what you want," Stiles says, a certain sharpness to his words.

Tel raises his eyebrows. "Hey, it's not like I went out and got shot on purpose."

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Peter can feel his anger, but it's mild compared to what it could have been. 

"I'll be more careful in the future," Tel says.

Stiles huffs. "Yeah. Like maybe wear a vest if some asshole's been threatening you."

"I get threatened all the time," Tel says.

"I'm not arguing about this," Stiles says, though Peter can tell he's irritated and would probably love to argue. "Get some sleep. I'll come by tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay." Tel sighs. "Thank you. Both of you."

Peter smiles. "You're family." He feels Stiles's surprise. He grins at him. "I believe I was promised waffles."

* * *

At the all-night diner, Peter orders a giant waffle with blueberries and whipped cream. It's decadent and entirely too sweet, but it reminds him of simpler times spent with his pack. 

Stiles orders french toast and coffee. 

The diner itself is small and very retro looking, and despite it being the wee hours of the morning, the place is half filled with customers. There's a jukebox in the corner playing Chuck Berry. The waitress wears a pink apron. Stiles gets powdered sugar on the corner of his mouth and Peter can't help but want to lick it away.

"Thanks again for watching out for Tel," Stiles says. "He's not like a lot of my relatives were. He's more like… I don't know. Sometimes he reminds me a little too much of my dad." He sighs. "He didn't always make me feel like a kid, but with him getting older and giving me disappointed looks, he's getting kinda parental."

Peter doesn't know what to say about that. 

Stiles smiles. "I know you don't like him very much. I don't know why, exactly, but I get that you don't. And that makes you watching out for him even more… Anyway. Thank you."

"I admire your loyalty to him," Peter says, and it's one hundred percent true. He can appreciate caring for one's family, even if they aren't perfect.

Stiles blinks. "He's all I have."

It hurts Peter that Stiles thinks so. He reaches across the table and touches the back of Stiles's hand. "Not all, Stiles."

Stiles looks down where Peter is touching him. Peter can feel his hope, and this time it's more than just a fragile thing. It's growing.

* * *

"Cora's asleep," Peter whispers as they return home.

Stiles nods. "She's dreaming something unpleasant. Can I… you think it'd be okay for me to do something about that? Not mess with her mind, just… suggest something nicer for her?"

It's a risk. He knows how much Peter is wary of the kinds of mind magics Stiles is capable of. Stiles has done this kind of thing for so long he's not sure where the boundaries are, and he doesn't want to upset Peter. Or Cora, if she finds out and doesn't like the idea.

But Peter feels something warm at the suggestion, and he nods. "Go ahead. That'd be good of you."

"It's not a nightmare," Stiles explains, "but it's one of those dreams that could turn that way if it goes on."

"We've had enough of those. Please do what you can for her."

Stiles nods. "Be right back, then." He walks down the hall and silently opens Cora's door. He closes his eyes and concentrates on what she's dreaming and can see it. She's in Peru again, in one of the pack's buildings on their compound. She can't find the way out. She's looking for Peter, but he's not there. Stiles nods to himself and waves his hand toward her sleeping form, changing the landscape of her dream. He doesn't make her see anything, just suggests a feeling of contentment. Of family.

Her dream melts into another scenario. If Stiles wasn't so absorbed in what he was doing, he wouldn't be able to see it, but he is so he can. He's surprised to see what the emotion he sent her does. He sees Peter and Cora together on the sofa, sitting side by side, but that's not the surprising part. It's what happens next.

Cora and Peter look up at a noise, but then they both smile. Peter's smile is bigger than Cora's, but they're both genuine as they watch another Stiles bring a plate of snacks to set down on the coffee table in front of them. Then dream!Stiles sits down on Cora's other side and hands her the remote. 

Stiles backs out of Cora's room, closing the door noiselessly behind him. He's not sure what to think, what to feel.

Is he happy? Cora doesn't even know what he is. How can she trust him so much? He's confused, he decides. But he can't deny he felt a certain amount of pleasure at the sight of Cora's dream. He knows it's just a dream, but he's been in a similar scenario in real life. More than once, since Cora's come back to Beacon Hills. He just didn't realize…

He's been falling in love with this little family. Not just Peter, who he's got complicated emotions for, but Cora, too. He wants to give them both something stable. Something to hold on to. They've both lost so much.

He turns around and follows the thread of bond he has with Peter to the master bedroom. Their bedroom.

They haven't had sex together since the first time. The only time. But they've slept in the same bed, sharing space and body heat and intimacy. Stiles brushed it off as werewolves being tactile. Of Peter needing touch after so long without, and when he faces it, Stiles has been more than a little touch-starved himself.

Stiles doesn't even realize he's walked into the bedroom until Peter speaks. 

"What's on your mind?" Peter asks, setting aside a book he was thumbing through. He's already taken his shirt and shoes off. The top button of his jeans is popped open. He's relaxed on top of the bed, their bed, and the sight of him makes Stiles's mouth water. 

"I forget," Stiles says truthfully. All that's on his mind now is the thickness of Peter's neck, the broad muscle of his shoulders and chest.

Peter gives him a slow smile that says he knows exactly what Stiles is thinking. Hell, with the bond, he's got to feel the lust running all through him at the moment.

Peter feels smug. And excited. His own desire is waking up, uncurling from where it slept lightly, fitfully, inside Peter's body. Like a wolf, it begins to stalk up and down their connection.

It's nearly enough to take Stiles's breath away. He reaches for the hem of his shirt, but Peter gets up and stops him. 

"Let me," Peter says, coming in close. He tilts his head so that his breath is hot on Stiles's neck. "I want to unwrap you like my very own present."

Stiles looks up and their eyes meet and catch there. Then Stiles nods. Why the hell not. He's already in too deep, he might as well throw caution to the wind.

"You're beautiful," Peter says quietly. It should sound cheesy. It should make Stiles's eyes roll. But he can feel Peter's sincerity, and it gives him a thrill.

And it's not just that. Peter seems to be talking about more than just Stiles's looks. Peter thinks he, Stiles, is beautiful. His whole self, all the parts, the good and the bad.

Stiles doesn't know how to take that.

But then again, Peter doesn't know everything, does he? He doesn't know about the aftermath of Stiles's mother's death. He doesn't know about the village and what Stiles did to them.

"Don't think, darling," Peter says, and then he captures Stiles's mouth in a kiss that devours. It doesn't take long before Stiles isn't thinking of anything but what Peter feels like against him.

Peter is true to his word: he undresses Stiles slowly like he's something to be savored and kisses every inch of newly bared skin. He doesn't stop until Stiles is naked and panting beneath him, nerves alight with sensation.

"Let me love you," Peter whispers, and Stiles can't say no, because it's been so long since he's felt loved.

Peter opens his up with his tongue and his fingers, slow and careful as if Stiles could break, could hurt. Peter treats him like he's mortal, and like he's something precious.

He doesn't stop teasing until Stiles begs him for his cock. 

"Peter, Peter _please_ ," Stiles gasps. And then he's being turned back over onto his back and he can wrap his arms and legs around Peter's body. He grasps at him like he might disappear, but he's not the only one. Peter touches him, fucks him, with increased desperation. Kisses him like he'll never get another chance.

Stiles holds on, riding out orgasms like they're waves, and Peter isn't satisfied with just one or two. He fucks and plays Stiles's body like it was meant for him, for hours, until Stiles is coming dry and begging for more, no more, he can't…

"One more time, sweetheart," Peter whispers, and it's so sweet Stiles can't help but try just once more.

Stiles wants to give Peter everything, and it seems Peter will only be satisfied with _all_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, folks! This is unbeta'd but I was so excited to finish it and get it posted that I just edited it myself. If you catch any typos, please let me know.

"Kate and Gerard are in Arizona, working a hunt," Stiles says one morning. They've just finished breakfast. 

Cora looks at Stiles and Peter and nods. "I'll let you two talk." Then she excuses herself from the table.

Stiles frowns a little but Peter explains. "She wants justice, but I told her to let me and you take care of it. She wasn't hard to convince. She doesn't want to kill them herself, just wants to know it's been done."

Stiles takes that in. He's about to ask a question, but Peter speaks first.

"I want to talk about what happens after," he says, reaching out and taking Stiles's hand.

Stiles has been dreading this. He knows what Peter will say, but he lets him say it anyway.

"I want you to stay," Peter tells him. He's nervous and hopeful and he thinks he's in love. Stiles can feel all that through the bond, and it hurts to know it'll be gone once Peter hears the truth of everything.

Stiles squeezes Peter's hand. "We should talk about this after you've gotten your revenge." He tries to say it as gently as he can.

But Peter is hurt anyway. A sharp pain, like the prick of a poisoned dagger, shoots across the bond. Peter curls his lip. "Why, so you can leave that much easier?"

"You think I want to leave, but I don't," Stiles says. He pulls away. Gets up from the table, starts clearing the dishes so he has something to do.

He can feel Peter's puzzlement now. "Please explain."

Stiles is adamant, though. He'll tell Peter everything, he owes him that much, but it has to be after the job is done. "Let's just focus on getting the Argents." He rinses the plates and stacks them in the dishwasher. 

Peter follows him into the kitchen. "I can feel you as much as you can feel me," he says. "I know you care about us."

Stiles goes still. Peter takes that as permission to move closer. He touches Stiles's back and Stiles lets him. It feels so good to be touched, to be cared for and loved, but he knows it's not real. Peter doesn't see all of him. He can't love all of him.

And for a moment, Stiles is tempted to let Peter love the lie. The person Peter thinks exists doesn't, though. Stiles is more warped, more dangerous than Peter can accept. But if Stiles kept that part of himself hidden, what would it really matter? Maybe they could be happy together.

Then the moment passes and Stiles knows what he has to do. He respects Peter too much to keep it all from him. He has to tell him the truth.

"Stiles," Peter breathes, kissing the back of his neck. "Let yourself have this."

It would be so easy to close his eyes and give in. But he pulls away and shakes his head. "We'll talk another time, and then… you'll see why I can't stay."

"Nothing you could say would change my mind."

"Don't say that," Stiles begs. Because it's too close to what he wants. If Peter could hear the truth about his past and still accept him? That's the fantasy, isn't it?

"Stiles. I love you," Peter says, and the words are almost enough to break Stiles into pieces.

Stiles turns his way. He can't seem to put his mask on, so Peter gets the full depth of sorrow written on his face. In his eyes. "Stop." His voice is weak.

Peter's face goes hard with resolve. Stiles can feel it, too. Peter's strength of will has always been one of his most attractive qualities. "I'm not giving up on this."

Stiles huffs a sad laugh. "Please just wait until we get back from Arizona, okay?"

Peter searches his eyes. Then he nods. "Alright."

It should be a relief, but Stiles knows he's just putting off the inevitable.

* * *

They don't stalk the Argent duo. They don't trick them. They don't lead them into a trap.

With Stiles's magic, they don't need to do any of that. They just locate Gerard and Kate, and then Stiles does the rest, transporting them to an abandoned warehouse and soundproofing it from anyone who'd be curious about the screams.

Peter chooses what to do to them. Stiles makes it happen. By the time they're tired of the screams, Gerard and Kate don't have much skin left, and most of their bones are broken, but Stiles's magic keeps them alive and aware.

When they started, Peter was enraged to even see their faces, but by the time he digs his claws through their windpipes to kill them, he is just in pain. Missing his lost family.

"It's not enough," Peter whispers. The hunters' blood drips from his hands and he turns to look at Stiles. 

And Stiles understands. "It never could be. You could wipe out their entire line and it won't bring your pack back. I know."

He disintegrates the bodies, leaves nothing but two piles of ash, and then teleports Peter home, right to their bedroom, where he can be alone and safe to grieve.

Peter lies down on the bed and tears come to his eyes. 

"Do you want me to go now?" Stiles asks softly.

"I need a shower," Peter says, looking down at himself and the blood staining his clothes.

"Okay…"

"Join me," Peter says.

They strip down and wash each other under the hot, hot water. Peter lets tears flow from his eyes, ducking his head under the shower every now and then to wash them away. He clings to Stiles and Stiles clings back, knowing it's just what Peter needs.

The stand under the water for what seems like hours. Stiles loses track of time. But Peter needs this, needs to cry out his grief in a safe place, so Stiles does nothing to move him.

Then, finally, it ends. Stiles washes Peter's hair and Peter even smiles at him. His eyes are red-rimmed but he looks so much lighter now that the burden of revenge has been lifted.

When they get out, Peter dresses in some soft yoga pants and a v-neck. He looks comfortable. Stiles wants to join him in bed, but he thinks now is the time to tell Peter about himself. He dresses in traveling clothes and sits on the side of the bed instead of crawling after Peter like he wants to.

Peter sits up. "I gather it's time to talk, then." His voice is slightly hoarse now.

Stiles banishes their dirty clothes, the last traces of Gerard and Kate going with them, and gets Peter a cool bottle of water from the fridge. "Do you want me to break the bond now?" he asks, feeling a little dead inside, preparing for what he has to do.

"No."

Stiles sighs. He's been over this so many times in his head. He knows Cora is in bed down the hall. He puts up a muffle charm on the room, so at least she won't hear what he has to say. He doesn't want to give her more nightmares. Still, he doesn't know where to start.

Peter starts for him. "You think you're a monster."

"I know I am," Stiles replies. "And I know you can never accept me once you find out just how… how deep it goes. How far back."

"I've told you before, Stiles: there's nothing you can possibly tell me that will make me not love you. I promise." Peter says it so plainly. And Stiles knows he believes it. For now.

"My mother wasn't human," Stiles says, starting his story. "She was a demon who fell in love, and when she wanted a child, she had to sacrifice something of herself, make herself mortal. She could still do magic, but she was mostly human then. She tried to fit in, did her best to help the other villagers. I remember people coming to the house for remedies, and she taught me a lot of magic and about herbs. But then, when I was seventeen, hunters came to our village. They turned everyone against my mother, and…" He hasn't told this story before, not all of it. He's nervous.

"Go on," Peter says gently.

"A mob came for her," Stiles says. The emotions seem very far away, now. "They dragged her to the center of the village and killed her. My father and I couldn't save her, but I was so angry. Enraged."

"You went after the hunters?" Peter supposes.

Stiles laughs bitterly. "I called out to my mother's old contacts. Demons who could change me, make me… like she had been. I made a deal. If they gave me the power for my revenge, I'd become one of them. I'd be a vengeance demon." He sighs. "They took the deal. I got my father out of the village and then I razed it to the ground. The hunters, the mob… and _everyone else_ , too." He swallows thickly. Here it comes. "Their families. Their elders. The… the _children_. Everyone was burned or swallowed into the earth."

Peter says nothing as he digests this. Stiles doesn't expect much. Disgust, maybe. He stands up and looks at Peter coldly.

"That's the kind of monster I am. That's… that's who you thought you loved." He doesn't know how he feels. He hates that he's revealing himself this way, but it's necessary.

Peter shakes his head slowly. Denial?

Stiles swallows hard. "Yes."

"You were seventeen and they killed your mother in front of you," Peter says.

"Don't minimize it," Stiles says harshly. "I knew what I did was wrong. I knew."

"Would you do it again?" Peter asks.

Stiles doesn't recoil exactly, but it's a near thing. "No! But… that doesn't change it. I did it. Those people lost their lives, those _kids_ died because of me. I murdered them." He keeps waiting to feel Peter's disgust, his hate. But it's not coming.

"This doesn't change anything," Peter says.

"It changes everything," Stiles says. "You can't possibly want me to stay after this! Peter… did you just shrug?"

Peter smiles and shrugs again. "Darling, I'm not going to beg you to stay, but I do love you, and nothing about that has changed."

Stiles lets out a breath. "You're impossible."

"Now answer me this… do you still want to stay with us?" Peter asks, looking at him with clear eyes.

"Yes, but-"

"Then stay." He says it so easily.

"What about Cora?" Stiles asks. "She doesn't even know I'm a demon."

"We'll tell her. Haven't you noticed yet, sweetheart? You're our pack now."

Stiles isn't sure how to take that. He wants to believe. But it's going to take some time.

* * *

It takes weeks, months, before Stiles trusts it. Before he learns to relax and accept Peter's love for what it is: unconditional.

But when he does, he finds himself happy and fulfilled in a way he never imagined.

Tel welcomes Peter and Cora to the family with open arms. But that brings up questions about family, about pack.

And Cora may hate Laura for not looking for her, for leaving her to fend for herself, and for leaving Peter alone and vulnerable, but… she misses her big brother. Derek.

Peter agrees they should make contact because he misses Derek, too. Of course he never says that aloud, but his bond with Stiles is stronger than ever. It's obvious.

So Peter makes a call. Laura and Derek arrive in Beacon Hills on a Tuesday.

* * *

Laura explains why she cut the pack bond from Peter. "I was too young for so much power, and I was overwhelmed… and then Peter was in so much pain and I just. I couldn't take it. I thought he was dying, we both did. And it was so confusing, the… the rage. Then the doctors said there wasn't any hope."

Peter nods stiffly. It's acknowledgement, not forgiveness. Stiles just glares. Derek keeps his eyes on Peter and Cora like they might disappear at any moment.

Cora doesn't speak, not yet. She has her own reasons to dislike Laura.

"I'm sorry," Laura says quietly. "I'll make it up to you. Both of you."

"I don't see how you could," Peter says.

"Can I try, at least?" Laura asks.

Peter looks at Cora. 

"I don't care what you do, as long as you don't try to be my alpha," Cora says.

Laura looks at Peter, then at Stiles, then back to Cora. "Who is your alpha, then?"

Cora lifts her chin defiantly. "Stiles is."

Stiles nearly chokes. Peter laughs at his reaction. "What, I thought you'd figured that out, darling."

Derek frowns. He looks at Stiles. "What are you?"

Stiles stops sputtering. He looks around, then back at Derek. He shrugs. "Magic."

Peter leans in and kisses him. "You certainly are, sweetheart."

Cora makes a gagging noise, and Stiles laughs. 

He loves his little family. Pack. He won't ever forgive Laura, no matter what decisions Peter or Cora come to. And he's never letting her take them from him. He'll just have to keep an eye on her.

But Derek is different.

Stiles takes him to the side while Cora, Peter, and Laura are having their uncomfortable, silent reunion. He muffles their voices. Derek frowns when he smells the magic, and Stiles explains. Then he leads Derek into the kitchen and says, "Kate Argent is dead."

Derek sits down heavily in a chair. Stiles doesn't have a bond with him, but Derek's hands tremble when he wipes over his face, and when he looks at Stiles it's easy to read the emotions in his eyes.

Pain. Guilt. Hope. "Are you sure?"

Stiles nods. "Peter and I did it ourselves, and there's no coming back from that. She and her father were behind the fire. We got justice for your pack." He doesn't think Derek needs to hear the details.

Derek swallows hard. "Do you know… what she did?"

"She confessed everything." 

"Peter knows?" More guilt in his eyes.

Stiles puts a tentative hand on Derek's shoulder. "He would never blame you. It wasn't your fault."

Derek shakes his head. Denial.

Stiles squeezes Derek's shoulder and nods. "It might take some time to understand that, but I'm willing to keep telling you. Does Laura know?"

"No, I couldn't- I couldn't do that."

"Sometimes we build these revelations up in our heads, make them into this deep dark secret. But then… people can surprise you." Stiles glances into the other room, sees that Peter's looking back at him. He smiles. "Especially when they love you."

"Do you love him? My uncle?" Derek asks.

Stiles looks at Peter again. Sees the way he and Cora are leaning against each other in solidarity. He loves them both, of course. They're family now. But Peter?

Stiles turns back to Derek, a genuine smile on his face. "I love him more than anything."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this! Please let me know if you liked it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment on the way out if you enjoyed the story. It really does help me write. And kudos! I love kudos. :D?


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